


Psyche

by GraceNM



Category: Angel: The Series (Comics), Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, F/M, Mythology - Freeform, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-07 18:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 22,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16413767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraceNM/pseuds/GraceNM
Summary: "He was kind now, no doubt, but he would certainly turn upon her some night and devour her."— Edith Hamilton'sMythologyPost-Chosen/NFA/AtF. When Buffy and Angel reunite in Europe, it's definitely not wine and roses. Both are independently on the trail of a snarling yellow demon that may be more than it appears. And on top of that, Buffy's been having these mysterious dreams...A loose retelling of the myth of Cupid and Psyche, Buffy-and-Angel style, with trials undertaken, help that comes in strange forms, and a mystical box just begging to be opened.





	1. Eros - Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KairosImprimatur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KairosImprimatur/gifts).



> This technically follows the events of "After the Fall," but you won't miss much if you haven't read it.
> 
> A million thank yous to [Mrs Gordo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsGordo/) for being my Watcher while I was writing this and for the beta. I never would have gotten it done without her.
> 
> And, last but not least, thank you to Kairos for the inspiration!

For weeks before she saw him again, he came to her in dreams.

At least, she thought it was him. It had to be him. It felt like him, smelled like him…tasted like him. But she never saw his face. In her dreams, she could see nothing, but she could feel…everything.

Her days passed in monotony and vague discontentment — more demons to kill, more slayers to train, more traveling to do. It was sad to think that sleeping was the highlight of her life, but every night she went to bed with a smile on her face.

After weeks of dreaming of his skin, his hands, his lips, she wanted so much to hear his voice, to see his face, to know. All day long, he dwelt in the back of her mind, and her discontent grew.

She started to ask every night. "Angel? Angel, please, answer me." But he never spoke, just captured her mouth in kisses.

Finally, one night she turned to see that she could make out the shape of the lamp on her bedside table. As she reached for it, she heard him at last, whispering, "Buffy, no."

She clicked on the lamp. And then she saw it.

The sword sticking through his chest. The blood soaking into her bed. She cried out in horror.

She woke up. The next night, she dreamed of nothing. When morning came, her pillow was damp with regretful tears.


	2. Close Encounters

The day it finally happened, Buffy was running through a wooded park in Bucharest. Her pulse was pounding in rhythm as her feet flew over the ground — watch that branch, veer left, jump over that root, was that a flash of yellow between the trees?

"This way!" she yelled to Vi with urgency. The demon was heading deeper into the woods, away from the trail lights, and Buffy didn't want to get separated in the darkness.

They had been tracking the scaly little — well, not so little — bastard through the city for hours. The local slayer had been trying for days, and the body count had been stacking up alarmingly when she called in reinforcements.

"Buffy, watch it!" Vi called, and Buffy dove to the right just in time to avoid running into the solid yellow wall of demon that had just crashed down from the canopy.

"Nice entrance," she said to her snarling foe, bouncing to her feet and brandishing the knife she had concealed. "Hope you've put some thought into your exit strategy!"

The demon jabbed at her with its enormous fist, and she ducked as Vi swung herself from a nearby branch and landed a solid kick to its head.

The demon roared, but instead of trying to fight back, it tucked itself into a surprisingly small scaly yellow ball. Vi landed next to it, and she prodded it gently with her sneaker.

"Um, Buffy...?" The ball began to shake, and Vi snatched her foot away. Right before their horrified eyes, the ball split into two, and each unfolded into a towering, full-size demon. "I didn't know they could do that! Did you know they could do that?"

"Guess our briefing was a little too brief," Buffy said with resignation as she dodged Demon 1. Demon 2 got its big hands on Vi and lifted her into the air as if she weighed nothing. "Hey, Big Bird! Put her down!" She managed to stab her knife into its arm before Demon 1 slammed into her. She bit the dust, hard, and the demon's clawed foot came down on her back, pinning her in place. She struggled mightily, but only pressed herself deeper into the dirt.

She was trying to reach a non-scaly, non-clawy spot to attack when she heard the unmistakable sound of a broadsword singing through the air and slicing into a meaty demon neck. The pressure on her back lifted as Demon 1 teetered and collapsed heavily to the ground beside her.

She rolled over, wondering where in the hell Vi had hidden a sword on her not-very-large personage. But the figure looming over her, from boots to long leather coat to spiky brown hair, didn't look like Vi at all.

"Need a hand?" he asked, reaching one out to her.

She said the only thing she could: "Angel."

†††

Buffy wasn't able to tear her eyes — or her hand — from his until a guy she'd never seen before clapped him on the back.

"We gave chase, man," he said breathlessly, "but the unmellow yellow thing got away. We lost the trail."

"That's not good," Angel responded, frowning. "Michianius demons are brutal. They kill humans for fun. We'll have to stick around until we've gotten them all."

"Welcome to the club," Vi said, using her sleeve to wipe at a cut on her face. "And thanks for the save. But who the hell are you?"

Buffy stumbled through the introductions, her eyes continuing to linger on Angel's face. He looked good. Well, the same. He always looked the same. But the last time she'd seen him — outside of her dreams — he'd been a little hell-shocked, his face drawn and his lips often pressed tightly together. Now he smiled easily enough as he introduced his friends.

Gunn was tall and oh-so-handsome, and Buffy didn't miss the way his eyebrows lifted when he heard her name on Angel's lips. She was surprised that it made her stomach flutter, to know that Angel had told him about her, but it did. His name was familiar too, but she knew very little about him.

She knew even less about the woman Angel introduced as Gwen, but she didn't exactly like what she saw. Not that she was one of those catty jealous types, but, well, she felt a little catty and maybe a tad jealous to see the willowy brunette so close to Angel.

She fought it back down. She and Angel were long over. And, given the way their last encounter had gone, she didn't expect that to change. No time to lament that now, though, not with a two-for-the-price-of-one brutal killer demon on the loose.

"Not that we don't appreciate the help," Buffy said, "but what are you doing here?"

"Gwen had a vision," Angel answered simply. "We've been traveling nearby."

"Doing the Grand Tour? Doesn't that get a little tricky if you don't have ID?"

"There's always a way," Angel said, without elaborating.

"L.A. isn't the best place for us right now," Gunn added. "The new chief of police didn't take our little hellcation, and she isn't inclined to give us the benefit of the doubt."

"We can talk about all of this later," Angel said. "Right now, we need to find the michianius."

Buffy pulled out her phone. "I'll check in with Xander. Maybe he and Sofia have had a sighting."

"Sofia is a slayer who lives here," Vi explained to the others. "And Xander's part of our team. He came with Buffy and me from London. We like to call him our friendly factotum. He doesn't like that so much."

As Vi spoke, Buffy edged a few steps away. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She fought the urge to pace. She was going to have to hold it together if she was going to spend the night with Angel. Spend the night _tracking a demon_ with Angel, she quickly amended. The last thing she needed was for her brain to turn traitor on her. It was already focusing a little too much on the electric feeling of his palm against hers as he'd helped her to her feet.

This was stupid. She wasn't a 16-year-old schoolgirl anymore. She was 24 and the head of an international network of superheroes. She'd been through more apocalypses than she could count and, dreams or no dreams, she wasn't going to let an old boyfriend showing up throw her off her game.

Yeah, just an old boyfriend. That's all he was. She shook her head at herself and clicked to place the call to Xander.

†††

The hunting was not happy. 

Xander had no new information, so staking out the park seemed to be the best option. Splitting up to cover more ground made the most sense, and Buffy could tell that Vi didn't really want to go off with strangers in a strange land, so the two of them joined up with the local slayer, Sofia, to monitor the perimeter of the park. Angel, with his superior sniffing ability and better night vision, trawled through the interior, assisted by Gunn and Gwen.

Many boring hours passed in which Buffy had little to do except fend off questions from two excited young women. Vi knew Spike's story from Sunnydale, but Sofia had never heard of a vampire with a soul. Her dark eyes twinkled in her still-childish face as she asked question after question.

Buffy stuck to the basics and gave anything that even hinted at her personal life a wide berth. She kept trying to get more information about the michianius out of Sofia, but it was clear the Bucharest-based slayer didn't know anything more than they did. Buffy would have to get the research team back in London on this — unless Angel had a lucky break.

But luck wasn't on their side, and eventually, they all trudged back to the hotel that Xander had found for them, minus Sofia, whose apartment wasn't far from the park.

Along the way, Angel fell into step beside Buffy, the set of his jaw and shoulders telling her how frustrated he was by the lack of progress. Buffy hoped that at least they had kept the demon pinned down and the morning news wouldn't be filled with more reports of mangled bodies.

She didn't know what to say to him. _Hey, any chance you've been having X-rated dreams about me?_ That was definitely out. _Hey, remember when I found out you had a teenage son with your sire and I totally freaked?_ Not any better.

She settled on talking shop. "Did you know they could split into two like that?"

"What?" Angel asked, clearly startled from his own train of thought.

"The...Mickey Mouse demon. It split itself in two when Vi and I were fighting it. Did you know it could do that?"

He looked over at her with a half-smile on his lips, and she felt the old flutter in her chest.

"No, I've only come across a michianius demon once before, and at the time, killing it was the last thing on my mind."

"Well, maybe this guy's special. I'm going to ask the team back home to look into it."

He nodded and they walked for a few blocks in silence, the sky slowly beginning to lighten around them.

"That might be why your friend got a vision," Buffy blurted as the idea occurred to her. "If this is a special kind of demon, I mean."

"Maybe," Angel said.

"Unless—I mean, was the vision—"

"You weren't in this one," Angel said. "I didn't know you would be here."

"Oh," Buffy said, not sure from his tone whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe he was regretting this particular mission. Or maybe he was worried that she was not happy to see him. "Angel—"

But just then, Vi asked her where to turn as they neared the hotel, and when she looked back at Angel, he was conferring with Gwen, their heads close together.

Buffy walked quickly ahead.

†††

While Vi cleaned up in the bathroom of the hotel room, Buffy flopped down on one of the beds to call Giles. She really didn't want to hear anything he might have to say on the subject of Angel, but she needed the research team's help with the mysterious case of the doubling demon.

"We'll go through our references again, Buffy, but I'm nearly certain there has never been a previously recorded instance of a michianius demon spontaneously bifurcating."

"So this guy _is_ a special case."

"It would appear that way. Although..."

"Although?" she prompted.

"Another possibility does present itself in situations like these."

Buffy could practically hear Giles thinking over the line. She wondered if he'd taken his glasses off to polish them, or if that was too unwieldy while also holding his phone.

"A showy display like the one you describe could suggest magic — a conjurer's trick."

"You think the demon is not really real? Tell that to the claw marks in my new leather jacket."

"I wouldn't go so far as to say the demon wasn't really there, Buffy, just that there could be other forces in play."

"Any chance you could give me the 'Demons for Dummies' version of this? I'm not quite following."

"The demon may have been summoned by a third party. This entire situation could have been orchestrated to...well, as you might say, to mess with you. You and Angel. You have to consider that you may be in serious danger."


	3. The Dark Prince

Buffy was worried.

Not because she might be in danger. She was in danger all the time. No big.

But because Angel was part of the equation. There was no end to the terrible things her mind could conjure up when it came to her and Angel. Was someone trying to turn him evil again? Would she have to kill him again?

She remembered her dream, so suddenly and so vividly that she gasped aloud. Angel, in her bed, bleeding, a sword thrust through his chest.

Her dreams had a very bad habit of coming true, and it terrified her to think they had been trying to warn her and she hadn't gotten the message.

She needed to stay calm. Vi was sleeping soundly in the next bed, and she tried for a while to match her deep breathing. But eventually she realized that she really, really needed to hit something.

†††

The hotel had a small gym in its dingy basement. It was still early, but not too early for normal, didn't-spend-the-night-tracking-demons types to be getting in a morning workout. She hoped the place would still be deserted. There wasn't much hope of finding a punching bag, but she could at least run hard on the treadmill to burn her anxious energy.

She heard no sound from inside as she pushed the door open, and she felt a little thrill of victory. But what she saw when she stepped over the threshold stopped her in her tracks.

Angel, shirtless and glistening, was moving gracefully as ever through one of the tai chi forms he had taught her a million years ago.

The combination of sense and memory threatened to overload her. She almost turned around and fled, but he spotted her and tilted his head in invitation. She wanted to tell him that she didn't remember, that she couldn't possibly, but her feet moved toward him anyway. She stopped where she could watch him and began mirroring his movements.

She was incredibly rusty, but some of it came back to her in muscle memory. She had to pay close attention to the lines of his body, which allowed her racing thoughts to slow but sent her pulse zooming. Gradually, though, she felt calmer, more centered, until she surprised herself by yawning hugely when they finished the last sequence.

"Trouble sleeping?" he asked gently.

She nodded. "Giles has a theory that we're in vague danger."

His brow creased. "Serious enough to lose sleep over?"

"It wouldn't be," she answered, "except the jeebies I'm getting are extra heebie, too."

"Then we'll be extra careful," he said reassuringly. "Though knowing more details would help."

She summed up what Giles had said on the phone and felt the worry start to steal back through her as the concern on Angel's face deepened.

"OK. We'll let everyone get a few more hours of sleep, and then we’ll come up with a plan," he said.

The part of her that was head of that international network of superheroes bristled at his take-charge instinct. "I guess that sounds reasonable," she allowed.

He gave her his patented little half-smile and started to walk away. She wanted to break through this wall of reserve between them, to tell him that it was her dreams that were the source of her concern, but she just couldn't. So she bit her lip and remained silent.

At the door, he turned back to her. "We should...talk later," he said awkwardly. "You know, catch up."

"Sure," she said, trying to smile. This didn't sound good. What kind of crazy bombshell was he going to drop on her this time?

His face, as usual, gave nothing away. "Try to get some rest."

†††

She was almost back to her room, where she expected a hot shower and a few more hours of staring at the walls while Vi slept, when she saw Xander's door open and his head poke out into the hall.

"Is there news?" she asked quietly, dreading the answer.

"Nothing from the Department of Mutilated Corpses, if that's what you're asking," he said.

She felt a little better, but not much. Xander gestured for her to enter his room and she sat down on the bed as he closed the door behind them.

"I just talked to Giles," he said. "How're you holding up?"

"As well as can be expected when facing a bad of unidentified origin. We'll figure it out. We'll slay. We'll go home."

"So you're not weirded by Angel showing up?"

"Why would I be?"

"Oh, I don't know, just almost a decade of very complex history, including him turning bad, you killing him, him coming back to life and breaking your heart into itty-bitty pieces. And let's not forget, him giving you an amulet that killed your _other_ vamptastic beau, who then also came back to life...Am I ringing any bells here?"

"Loudly and very annoyingly, thanks. I remember it all. And I also remember that he's not exactly your favoritest person."

"This is not about me and my completely justified prejudices. This is about you."

"I'm fine, Xan. Really."

"Did they recently change the meaning of the words 'fine' or 'really' in some way I am not aware of?"

She sighed. "OK, I'm not really fine. It's...uncomfortable. Things didn't go well the last time I saw him. But we're both just focusing on the mission. That's what we _all_ should be doing."

"In other words, 'I am Boss Woman, now shut the hell up'?"

His tone was teasing, but she caught the bite to it. Xander never minded taking orders, but she thought he might be getting a little tired of schlepping around the world as her supernatural travel agent. She didn't know what he wanted instead. They didn't talk much about stuff like that anymore.

"Sorry." She smiled sheepishly. "I didn't mean to high-horse you like that. I'm just a little...on edge."

"No, no, your wish is my command, master. I'll—" Xander went through several changes of expression before he landed on his "aha" face. "Master!" he exclaimed, pointing his finger into the air. "Master...bater!"

"Well, that's a twist I wasn't expecting."

"Giles said we might be looking for a conjurer, right? Someone who does fancy magic tricks to scare people? And we're in Bucharest, which is not that far from—"

"Transylvania. You think we're dealing with..."

"Dracula! The Dark Prince himself!"

Buffy put her head in her hands. The last thing she needed was to have to explain her run-in with Dracula to Angel of all vampires.

"Have you felt...funny at all?" she asked Xander.

"You mean, have I been craving a nice spider burger with a side of flies? Not so much."

"We can put that in the plus column at least," she said, standing up. "I hate to say it, but it's a good theory. Why don't you call Giles back so they can start looking into it. Maybe we should send a team to go knock on Drac's coffin."

†††

"Dracula? There's no way he's real," Gunn said later, when they had all squeezed into Buffy and Vi's hotel room to brainstorm. "He's literally on kids' cereal boxes."

"That's Count Chocula, pal, and make no mistake: The Unholy Master is as real as you and me," Xander countered, vehemently enough that Buffy looked at him sharply. "Sorry, force of habit."

As Xander launched into the story of his unfortunate stint as butt monkey to the Dark One, Buffy again felt glad that Angel hadn't joined the group yet.

"Buffy managed to run Drac out of Sunnydale, but he's pretty much unkillable," Xander finished.

A knock sounded at the door, and Vi went to open it.

"I still don't understand why some famous ancient vampire would be bothering with all this," Gunn said.

"He's not," Angel said from the doorway. At the sound of his voice, Buffy realized she had been rubbing the side of her neck, and she quickly snatched her hand away.

"How do you know?" she asked. "He did seem to be impressed by the slayer thing. And you know how celebrities are. He needs the attention."

"He's been out of the country for weeks," Angel explained. "I, uh, actually had the same idea, so I checked with some mostly reliable contacts. He's not the kind of guy to travel lightly, so it's pretty easy to keep track of his comings and goings."

"Well, that's a bust," Gwen piped up from her corner.

"Not entirely," Angel said. "I did get this." He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Buffy. "It's a list of places around town that have had unusual magical activity in the last few weeks. Buffy and I will check these out tonight while the rest of you patrol the area around the park."

"I'm not sure that's the best idea," Buffy said firmly. "Wouldn't it make sense to bring more backup?"

"Not until we have more information. If we come charging in with the whole team, we'll probably scare off whoever is doing this."

"Fine," she said, an edge to her voice. "Vi will lead the team patrolling around the park. Xander, call Sofia and have her meet you there as well. If anyone spots anything, let the rest of us know immediately."

"Ay, ay, capitan," Xander said, with a little mocking smile. Angel's black coat was already receding down the hallway, so Buffy only had time to shoot Xander the briefest of glares before following.

She caught up to him near the elevators. "Angel."

He looked back at her questioningly.

"If this is gonna work, you need to stop doing that."

"Doing what?" he asked. "If what's going to work?"

"If we're going to work together like this, then you need to stop making decisions for me."

He held her gaze for long enough that she started to feel heat rise in her cheeks.

"What are you saying? You're the one in charge here?"

"Well, I do have a slightly better track record." She bit her lip, but it was too late. The words were out. He didn't move a muscle, but she could feel his guard hitch higher.

She missed the easy rapport they used to have, the days when she could run to him and tell him all her problems and let him smooth her out like a wrinkled sheet. Even years after he left Sunnydale, she was still spilling her guts to him like no one else in her life. But now her hands were clenched at her sides and her words tripped over themselves and it was all wrong.

She looked away from him for a beat, just long enough to breathe, then met his eyes again. "I'm not saying I have to be the boss. You have your own team and I respect that. But can we agree to discuss our plans before announcing them to the group? I don't want to fight in front of them."

"I don't want to fight at all," Angel said. "I just want to help."

"Well, it would help if we figured this out together."

He nodded, once. "We will. I'll see you tonight, Buffy."


	4. Reacquaintances

Angel stepped into the busy hotel lobby just as the sun dipped below the horizon. Buffy steeled herself for an uncomfortable evening, but when she met his gaze, his eyes were so warm that she immediately felt better. She didn't know what she had been expecting — bitterness, annoyance, frustration? But it wasn't there. He stepped into the glowing circle under a lamp, and as the sun faded from the windows, it was like the lights dimmed everywhere else.

She couldn't quite find her voice. She headed for the door and he followed. For once, she was grateful for his quiet ways. She was sure she wasn't the only one feeling tentative and tender. She didn't regret calling him out for being overbearing — she was pretty sure they would clash over that again, in fact — but being around him still threw her, even after all this time.

"Where's our first stop?" she asked after they had walked into the street.

"There's an abandoned building a few blocks from here that made the list."

She looked at his profile in the streetlight. "You seem to know your way around."

"I've been here before."

Of course he had. Somehow that had escaped her completely. Romania was where Angel had been cursed with his soul. She didn't know exactly where, or exactly when, though she knew it had been about a century before they first met. Talk about your unpleasant memories.

She had them, too. She remembered the look in his eyes as he came back to her, after months of soulless terror. The one that had stopped her sword from landing a killing blow — not that it helped him much in the long run. She had to run that sword through him just a few minutes later. And that moment had broken something inside of her that she pulled back together with sheer force of will but that never actually healed.

She stayed lost in her thoughts as they investigated the abandoned building. If any magic had actually been done here lately, there was no evidence of it. Nothing inside but a few growling stray dogs who seemed to call it home. Angel pulled out his list and aimed them toward their next destination — one of the old communist apartment buildings near the city center.

Buffy was so quiet that eventually even Mr. Broody Introvert was driven to break the silence between them.

"Buffy...I'm sorry if this is weird for you," he said. "You were the last person I expected to see here."

"Well, that's what you get for not reading the fine print on your visions," she answered lightly.

"All I meant was that I was surprised to see you. But it was a welcome surprise."

"I was surprised to see you, too," she said, but that wasn't exactly true, was it? Those dreams...Part of her had been expecting him to turn up for weeks now. "I didn't realize you were back to chasing down visions."

"I'm not happy about it," he said, bitterness coloring the edges of his words. "I thought I was done with all that, done with destiny. I mean, I am. Done with it."

"OK. Color me confused," she said.

"What I mean is... I thought, after what happened in L.A., that they would pretty much leave me alone. But Gwen turned up one day with a splitting headache and a vision for me. No explanation of why they chose her. But the Powers That Be are still calling the shots."

"And you can't exactly decline the call."

"No," he agreed. "The rub is that I want to help. I can't turn my back on all these people in pain."

"I get it," Buffy said. And she did. Even when she stopped being the Chosen One and added a whole army of bestest new sisters around the world, she hadn't been able to stop being a slayer. She indulged herself for a while, but it wasn't long before she returned full time to her calling.

Angel had been part of that decision. She got a tattered letter in the mail one day, covered in stamps and obviously misdirected a few times before reaching her. Her heart jumped into her throat as she read his words of farewell, and before nightfall, she was on a plane to the city that was the closest thing she had left to home.

Post-hell L.A. wasn't the easiest place to visit. But at least she was able to make it clear that she hadn't been working against them, that Andrew was full of shit, that her dalliance with the Immortal had added up to a grand total of three dates, at which they'd mostly talked shop when they weren't dancing. In return, she found out why Angel had been working for an evil law firm. That he had a son. With Darla. That no one had ever told her about. (Well, Angel said she used to know but there was some wonky memory thing. Whatever.) Oh, and Spike was totally alive. Or re-undead. And no one had bothered to tell her that, either.

She tried to stay and deal, but it was all just too much, and she fled back to Europe on a flimsy excuse. She threw herself back into work, finding that she actually had very strong ideas about how to help the new slayers, directing training and research and resources where they were needed. Spike followed her, eventually, both to apologize and to see what was left between them, but whatever torch she carried for him had been burned out by guilt and grief and time. She would always be grateful to him, always love him, but not in the way he wanted. It wasn't enough to build a life on.

And Angel seemed to be building a better life without her. By now, she had gotten used to the formerly impossible idea that Angel was a father. He had let other people, other women, into his heart. Just because you were the only person a guy had loved in 243 years didn't mean it would stay that way. And it was good, really. She wanted him to love, and be loved. Maybe he was in love with Gwen. After all, they were tied together now. She was carrying his visions.

"So even though you feel like a puppet," she prodded, "you don't wanna cut your strings."

"I'm not a puppet," Angel said a little too forcefully. She cocked an eyebrow at him. He sighed. "I'm not doing this for a reward. I'm not doing it because I expect the good guys to ultimately triumph over evil. I've learned my lesson for keeps, Buffy. I'm doing what I can every day to help, and that's all."

"Sounds like you're in a better place than me," she said, with a twinkle to her tone. "I'm still holding out for the rewards. I'd like to win the lottery, live on the beach, and refuse to drink anything that doesn't come with a little umbrella."

He laughed. "I didn't mean to get so intense."

"No, this is good. I like knowing what's on your mind."

"Fair enough. What's on yours?"

"This place," she said, gesturing to the hulking building ahead. "This is the address, right? Any idea whose door we're supposed to be knocking on?"

"My sources weren't that specific," Angel said ruefully, running a hand through his hair. Buffy sucked in a deep breath. There were possibly billions of apartments inside.

"Can you...like, smell magic?"

"That's not as ridiculous as it sounds," he admitted. "But not when I don't know what I'm—"

He was rudely interrupted by the big yellow claw of a michianius demon grabbing him by the coat and tossing him into the doorway, which crashed inward.

Buffy immediately jumped and knocked into the demon with all her strength. She was surprised but pleased when it actually went down. With a series of quick maneuvers, she managed to get its head in her grasp. She was just about to deliver a fatal twist when Angel yelled, "No!"

She jumped back from the demon with a yelp. Instead of getting back up, it rolled itself into a ball, just like it had done in the park before it split in two.

"What was that all about?" she asked Angel. "One wasn't enough? You want to double the fun?"

"Buffy, look," he said. The yellow ball had begun to roll, making its way through the broken door. "I think we're supposed to follow it."

"We're following an overgrown demonic tennis ball back to some evil sorcerer's lair? _This_ is the plan?" But she crunched with Angel over the glass and into the dimly lit hallway anyway.

Luckily the little ball didn't have to worry about the stairs. It maneuvered down the rabbit warren of a hallway to the left and parked itself in front of one of the first-floor apartments. It didn't show any signs of splitting. Now it was more like the yellow block of cheese on a mousetrap, luring them in and ready to snap their little mouse necks.

"I really don't like this," Buffy said. But Angel wasn't listening. His expression was intent, almost sinister, and in the sallow light of the hallway, he looked as much like a vampire as he did in game face. "Angel?"

He was already making his way toward the door.

No choice but to follow him. He seemed unwilling, or unable, to stop himself from heading right into the mousetrap. So much for this just being recon. Buffy's brain was telling her to stop him — restrain him physically if necessary — and call for backup, but her gut said there wasn't time for that.

Something was about to happen.

Before Angel could even reach it, the door opened, and haunting music spilled out into the hall. Without thinking, Buffy sprinted ahead to overtake Angel. She didn't know what was inside, but she wasn't going to let Angel go in first in his current state.

She skidded to a stop in front of the open door. There was a woman standing just inside. Black hair, petite, dark clothes. She was holding a wine glass, not a weapon. Nothing looked scary about her at all, but Buffy's stomach still turned to ice.

She was looking into the face of Jenny Calendar.


	5. Psyche

"You have taken far too long," said the woman wearing Jenny Calendar's face. Her voice didn't match Buffy's expectations. It was lower in register and flavored with an accent. "You must come inside."

Angel was at Buffy's shoulder now. "It's not her," Buffy said. "The First is back."

"She's not The First," Angel said, his eyes never leaving Jenny's face. He reached out and grabbed her wrist. "She's flesh and blood, all right."

"I should have realized that you would see in me a familiar face," the woman said, pulling her arm from Angel's grasp. "There is a strong resemblance among many of the women in our family."

"Your family," Buffy said, realizing.

"Kalderash," Angel said, almost a whisper.

"Not just any Kalderash," the Romani woman clarified. "The last."

†††

Her name was Mirela. She ushered their shocked selves into her kitchen, where they sat while she poured red wine into two more glasses.

"The demon," Buffy said after a minute. "That was you?"

"Simple magic," Mirela responded.

"But all those people—"

"I think you'll find that none were killed who were not known for abusing or enslaving Roma. The authorities do nothing. I fancy myself above my family's taste for vengeance, but perhaps that is, after all, only a fancy."

"But why a demon?"

"I had to get your attention in some way."

"Phone call? Postcard? Singing telegram?"

"I did not know how to reach you." Buffy had asked the question, but the response was directed to Angel. "My letters went unanswered. I can no longer travel so freely. So I turned to more celestial channels."

"The visions," Angel said.

"It was easy enough to attract Their notice. They have an interest in you. My family has lost its interest."

"I thought you were the last of your family," Buffy said.

"There are many who bear the name Kalderash. But there are none remaining who have the gift as I do."

"You wanted our attention. You have it. What is this all about?" Angel asked.

"What else could it be about? Your soul."

Fear unsheathed its claws and buried them in Buffy's stomach. She wanted to take Angel's hand but stopped herself.

"Why should we even listen to you? You've been spending a whole lot of time lately trying to manipulate us," she said instead.

"You do not have to believe me. But it will be your loss. The simple truth is that I am dying. And the moment I die, Angelus' soul will be destroyed."

†††

Mirela was much, much older than she looked. It was magic that gave her the appearance of her youth. "Another fancy of mine," she explained. She had been a baby when her family had cursed Angel with a soul, and when his "friends" slaughtered most of their camp in retaliation. Buffy realized she must mean Darla and Drusilla and Spike.

What an odd twist of fate. Killing one girl had gotten Angel a punishment that lasted more than a century, while the murder of who knows how many of her family members by the others had been largely forgotten. Well, Darla was dead now. Spike had a soul. But Drusilla was still out there somewhere, killing on her slightest whims. Buffy felt a stab in her chest when she realized she too had let Dru go, while giving Angel's soul a punishment that lasted a century.

But she couldn't dwell on that now, not when...Buffy forced herself to pay attention.

Magic had always been part of Mirela's life. One of the few remaining elderwomen had trained her in all of the old ways, including the dark magic that had been used to curse Angel.

"The rules of magic — even the darkest magic — are fixed," Mirela said, a faraway look in her eyes. "A curse cannot be cast if there is not some way to break it."

"We are very familiar with the loophole in this particular curse," Buffy said testily.

"Perfect happiness — yes. That causes the soul to flee its demonic vessel. It sets the monster free. But it does not remove the curse from the soul."

"Of course," Angel said, softly.

"Huh?" Buffy said, loudly.

"The Ritual of Restoration — the rite of returning a soul — is not complicated magic. As you know, even a gifted child can do it. This soul can be lost and restored over and over again. To remove the curse from the soul, to reunite soul and body permanently — that is much more difficult. I would say it is nearly impossible."

"But what about the loophole?"

"As I say, nearly impossible. Not completely. But there is an easier method. The curse on the soul can be broken with the death of the person whose power sustains it. That is now me alone."

Buffy looked at Mirela sharply. "But you said..."

"You already know that my family is obsessed with vengeance. Many cruelties can be justified in the name of justice." Mirela shook her head sadly. "If the curse is broken by death, the soul will be consumed in the process."

This time, Buffy did take Angel's hand.

"The elders feared retaliation — and rightly so. That is how the cycle of vengeance works. It was the cruelest retribution they could envision."

Buffy stared into the face that looked so much like her old teacher's, trying to decide if what she said was true. It had been a long time since Buffy could bear to think much about Ms. Calendar. There was so much... But looking at her relative reminded Buffy of something she'd been told long ago.

"I don't understand," she said. "I thought these magicks had been lost to your people."

"I was lost to my people," Mirela said. "I quarreled with my cousin Enyos. He was rigid and foolish and did not understand my gift." She sipped her wine. "Men never know a family's deepest secrets. It is always the women who are forced to carry them."

Angel seemed like he had not been listening for some time. But he spoke then, in a strangled voice. "How long?"

"Very soon," Mirela said regretfully. "Weeks, maybe days. You must prepare yourself to die." She turned to Buffy. "And you must be prepared to kill him, once the soul is gone. We followed him for decades to make sure it would be done. But Enyos and his niece both failed. When I am gone, there will be no one who will be able to carry out that responsibility."

Buffy thought again of her dream, of Angel's horrified face. Was this her fate? To kill Angel again and again?

"Thank you," Angel said to Mirela. "Thank you for giving me time to prepare." He pulled his hand from Buffy's and stood. His eyes were completely shuttered to her, his face emotionless.

Buffy felt as though an actual fire had been sparked in her chest. She jumped to her feet, knocking over the glass in front of her. She didn't bother to right it. The wine soaked into the tablecloth like blood.

"So that's it? You're just going to let your soul be destroyed?! Angel, that's literally a fate worse than death."

"I need to see my son, Buffy. I need to figure out a way to get to him."

"You need to stay and fight this. You need to not leave him."

"It's over," he said. She remembered the last time he'd said those words to her, on death's door as poison coursed through him. She'd forced him to live then. Maybe it was time to stop forcing him. But her brain rebelled wildly against that thought.

"It's never over, remember?" She grabbed his arm and made him look at her. "I told you that you're not allowed to make all the decisions on this mission. We can figure it out."

"You won't have to do it, Buffy."

"What?"

"Once I've...said goodbye to Connor, I'll take care of it myself. I won't wait."

"This is insane," Buffy said.

"Maybe it's what needs to happen. I saw in a vision...in hell. This would prevent it from ever coming true."

"I don't know what you saw, but hell-o-vision doesn't strike me as the most reliable of sources. It's not enough reason to give up. There's gotta be a way—"

"Yes," Mirela interrupted calmly. "Let us speak of the nearly impossible, shall we?"

†††

The answer, of course, was a series of trials. That's how this soul stuff always worked, with torture and pain and suffering. And of course Angel perked up when he heard that maybe he could suffer his way out of this mess. Angel ran a suffer-athon a day. This was practically his forte.

"The only way to keep your soul safe is to prove you have met three ideals," Mirela explained. "You must show evidence of love, of punishment and of forgiveness. If you can do so, your soul will be freed from the curse."

"That doesn't sound so hard," Buffy said.

"Each ideal will be symbolized by a sacred object. You will not know what these objects are until the trials begin. Seeking them will require great risks, and you will not have much time."

"Can we help him?" Buffy asked Mirela. "Or does he have to do this on his own?"

"He cannot do it at all," she answered. 

Buffy wanted to wring the woman's neck in frustration. "Keep talking."

"Angelus cannot complete the trials himself. That would not be proof enough to satisfy the magic. To put it in the simplest terms, it is not enough for him to love, he must be loved in return."

The light that had sparked in Angel's eyes was fading.

"Doesn't your son have superpowers?" Buffy asked hopefully.

"I could never ask him to do this."

"It would not matter in any case," Mirela said. "A child's love is pure but not quite freely given."

The words were tumbling out of Buffy's mouth before she could stop them. "I could do it."

"No," Angel said immediately. "I won't even consider that."

"Does he have to agree?" Buffy asked Mirela.

She smiled a tiny smile. "For your sake, I regret to say that yes, he must."

"This isn't going to happen," Angel said. He stood and touched Mirela's arm. "The mercy you have shown me has been more than I deserve. I hope your last days are as comfortable as possible."

He looked at Buffy significantly and then headed toward the door, clearly expecting her to follow.

"There is still time," Mirela said to Buffy, "but it is very limited. At dawn, I begin my final journey, back to the place where I was born. It is there I wish to die. If you are to save his soul, you too must go to that place. We must return to where it all began."


	6. It Must Have Been Love

Angel was waiting on the street when Buffy emerged from the apartment building, her head spinning from Mirela's warnings.

"Buffy—" he began, but she didn't want to hear his explanations.

"Angel, if you don't want me to do this, then you have to tell someone else. Your friends."

"It won't help." He shook his head. "Gunn and Gwen work with me. I think they respect me. But...a lot happened in hell. And everybody else is dead. They're all dead...Doyle, Fred, Wesley, Cordelia." He didn't look away when he said Cordelia's name, and the raw look in his eyes made Buffy clench her fingernails into her palms.

"I know. I'm so sorry." She looked at the ground. "My offer in there must have made you uncomfortable. If you've...moved on."

"No. God, Buffy, that's not even close." He clasped her shoulders and she looked up into his eyes. They were full of pain. "It's not because I don't love you. I will love you even when there's nothing of me left. But I deserve this. My friend Fred — her soul was destroyed because of the deal we made with Wolfram and Hart. This punishment is what I have coming. It's not about what I did without a soul anymore. It's about what I did with one."

He was really going to give up. 

He was really going to let this happen. The thought of losing him, not just in this world, but all worlds, all dimensions, forever, made her breathless and panicked. But it also made her sure. Absolutely sure.

"You told me you went to Wolfram and Hart to save your son, to save his life."

"I did." He let his hands fall to his sides.

"So you had a choice between something inconceivable and something terrible, and you chose the terrible. We've all had to make hard choices. I came close to sacrificing the entire world for Dawn. Do you think Fred would want your soul to be destroyed? Truly?"

He didn't answer.

"We've done this all before. I'm tired of trying to convince you to stay alive. Aren't you tired of trying to convince me that you deserve to die?"

"You still don't know everything about me. Things I did before we met. Things I did after."

"And so once again, you're making the decision. Choosing for both of us. Maybe that made sense when I was 18. I know I'm not exactly reaching for the Poligrip yet, but I've seen a lot more of the world since then. I've done things that I'm not proud of, and things I am. And no matter how much time passes, no matter what choices we've had to make, this thing between us? It never stops." She held his gaze for a long moment. "For me, it's always you."

He reached out and cupped her face, his thumb running along her cheek. "I tried to give up on you," he said softly. "When you left L.A., I thought...I tried to make myself stop hoping. And then Spike..."

"It couldn't work. He wasn't...Angel, what I've learned from running away is that...I don't want to. I want to do what I'm good at. I want to fight. Even if it's not about us, I'll fight just so my world still has you in it. But you have to fight, too."

"What if something happens to you? I couldn't live with myself."

"You won't have to," she said, and morbid truth of that seemed to get through his thick skull. "Either we both make it through or we don't. You have to let me try."

"OK," he said quietly, and the relief that swept through her made her knees weak. "Buffy, I..."

"I know," she said, burying her face in his chest as his arms closed around her. "I know."

†††

Buffy didn't want to pull away, afraid the moment she did, time would come rushing in to steal him from her. She clutched him tighter as he stroked her hair. Then his lips were on her temple and she found herself actually drawing back from him a little, but only so she could lift her face to his. Their eyes met and locked, and then she reached up to pull his mouth down to hers.

She could never quite remember this between kisses, the precise softness of his lips and the way he felt as right, as natural, pressed against her as a stake felt in her palm. It surprised her every time, how much better it was than what her memory could keep.

Her heart wanted to soar and to burst into a thousand tiny pieces at the same time. Which was sadly a pretty familiar sensation when it came to Angel. But she pushed all rational thought away, leaving her head echoing with only a chorus of his name as she kissed him with a fierce and desperate tenderness.

When she finally had to breathe, her forehead pressed against his, he said, "We need to—"

"I know," she said, kissing him again in short, quick bursts that popped like firecrackers in her chest. "We don't have much time."

"We need to figure out how to get to Borsa," he said distractedly, nuzzling his cheek against hers.

"Where?" she whispered, breathing heavily into his neck.

The question seemed to sober him. His hands stopped the roaming that had been melting her insides, and she took a deep gulp of the night air to steady herself.

"It's where the Kalderash camp was, when..."

"Oh." She bit her lip. "Mirela did say she was traveling back to where she was born. You heard?"

"I just know."

"So what's our best option for getting you there? Car with blanket? Train with blanket?"

"I suggest you travel with me." The voice broke through the darkness. Mirela's face was framed in her open window. Buffy wondered just how long she had been watching. "Meet me here in the last hour before dawn."

Buffy and Angel looked at each other. Before they could answer, Mirela added, "I would not speak of these trials to your friends. If anyone tries to interfere, it could be disastrous for your hopes."

†††

A few hours later, Buffy sat in a circle of salt on the floor in Mirela's sparsely furnished apartment, which was now lit only by flickering candles.

Angel's eyes were closed and he looked serene except for the muscle in his jaw that kept jumping.

Her own hands were trembling. They knew so little about Mirela and they were trusting her with so much. They had done what they could to verify her identity and her story in the time that they had, but there wasn't much to go on, especially without giving away too many details.

On the way back to the hotel, Buffy had called off the stakeout at the park. When Xander and Vi returned, she hugged them too hard and told them she and Angel had a lead on the michianius demon that would take them out of town for a few days. Buffy wished she could talk to Willow, but didn't know how to reach whatever astral plane she was currently on. Buffy didn't trust herself not to give something away to Giles, so she left a detailed letter concealed in her suitcase in case she didn't come back. And she interrupted Dawn during her dorm's Veronica Mars watch party to tell her she loved her. Given the number of life-or-death situations Buffy faced on an annual basis, Dawn was fairly used to these kinds of calls. She didn't seem fazed. 

"I think he'll be on the first flight he can get," Angel said when they met up again later in his hotel room. She knew he was talking about Connor.

"You went a little too cryptic, huh?"

Angel's only response was to reach for her. They spent the last hour before they had to leave wrapped in each other's arms, quietly gathering strength.

And now they were about to travel Mirela-style to the place of her birth. Already the air was beginning to shift around them in response to Mirela's chanting. Buffy closed her eyes.

For a moment, she was spinning fast and smooth, just as if she were performing on her skates. Then she was going too fast. Pain shot through her, and she feared she might lose her center and crash into the mystical equivalent of hard, rough ice.

Just before she cried out, it stopped.

When she opened her eyes, the world looked like nothing she had seen before. The trees and grass and standard trappings of the countryside were all there in the pearly predawn light, but they seemed gossamer, almost transparent, as if her hand could pass right through them. The ground she was sitting on felt solid enough, but she wasn't sure what would happen if she tried to take a step.

"We have reached our destination," Mirela said, "yet we linger in the adumbral passage, just outside of the material world. From here, you will be able to travel anywhere as you attempt the trials." She looked at Angel. "You and I must remain here. We can only wait."

"Buffy, are you sure you want to do this? It's not too late to change your mind," Angel said.

"I think it is," she answered with a small smile. "I've been trying to change my mind about you for years now. Never works."

"I love you." His eyes were reverent.

"And I love you."

"Ah, the conditions have been met," Mirela said with amusement. She lifted her hands. "Te invoc, spirit al trecerii!" Buffy wished she could understand the incantation as it washed over her. In response to the words, a small purple flame began to grow in the center of their rough circle, like a campfire.

"This is the Trial of the Fire," Mirela explained as the purple blaze burned higher. "If you are worthy, the smoke will show you the first object you seek. The symbol of love that you must retrieve."

It took so long that Buffy thought it must not be working, or that somehow she wasn't worthy. But finally, the smoke began to curl, forming a ring. The ring became more detailed — heart, hands, crown. She knew without a doubt that it was the Claddagh ring that Angel had given her on her 17th birthday. The one she left in the mansion on Crawford Street and never saw again.

And now Crawford Street — and every other street in town — had been wiped off the map. Finding the ring would be impossible. They couldn't expect her to—

She was already swirling. "Wait!" she yelled but she couldn't even hear herself. She focused on holding her center, keeping herself together, and then she landed with a thump.

†††

There was just enough light to make out where she was — a cemetery. Or what used to be one. Broken tombstones and bare earth stuck up jaggedly all around. Mausoleums were in pieces and a stone angel with broken wings stared up from the ground at her side.

She got to her feet. Far, far above her, she could see a bit of pale sky.

Whatever magical whozits were behind this were great big jerks. Couldn't she just fight some big hairy demons or something?

How was she ever going to find a tiny silver ring in the crater of destruction that used to be Sunnydale?


	7. Dark Side of the Moon

Buffy brushed off her favorite stretchy black pants as she turned in a small circle, trying to figure out what to do next. She pulled out her phone and checked it, just to be sure. No service. So no Wil to the rescue with a handy locator spell. Not that Buffy knew how to reach her. They talked only sporadically these days. They hadn't been part of each others' everyday lives since this place was towny instead of all wrecky. And, anyway, contacting Willow would surely violate the DIY vibe of the trials.

The debris overhead blocked most of Buffy's view, but it looked like she could climb up a bit higher and be reasonably safe. Then she would at least have a better sense of her surroundings.

The broken gravestones became her footholds as she cautiously climbed the steep slope. Little bits of rock and dirt shifted with every step. She hadn't expected this quest to be quite so quest-like. When she thought "trials," she thought more of fights to the death and, like, booby-trapped obstacle courses, not literal treasure hunts. They hadn't given her any mystical digging equipment or even a measly metal detector.

Though, given the amount of wrecked stuff down here, a metal detector wasn't likely to be much help. She could only hope that there would be some sort of trick to this. She'd pull on the right headstone and a hidden door would open, movie-style.

She planted both her palms on a long table-like gravestone and pulled herself onto the surface. From her higher perch, she could see the vast crater spread around her and the still-barely-light sky stretched far overhead. 

Wow. Even if she found the ring, she didn't know how the hell she was ever getting out of this place.

The sight below wasn't encouraging, either. Much of Sunnydale had been completely swallowed by the Hellmouth, but there were still pieces of things she recognized, half-chewed into the earth.

Some homecoming this was.

She found it hard to even think of Sunnydale too much, let alone look directly into the ruins of her old life. Those last few years on the Hellmouth had been, well, hellier than average. She lost her mom. She lost herself. Then she lost everything — her house, her town, her Chosen One status. But that part was freeing, in its way. She could never get her mom back, and she could never get her old life back. But she felt like she had gotten herself back, at least a little bit. Working with the slayers, teaching them, trying to make sure they never felt as alone as she had — it helped. So did seeing Dawn making it on her own in college, finally getting out from Big Sis' shadow. (Though of course Buffy made sure the slayer in town was keeping an eye out. Old habits die hard.)

But while Buffy had rebuilt on top of the wreckage of her life, seeing this place still stabbed into the tender, empty places in her heart. The parts that remembered the bite of her shovel into the earth as she dug Chloe's grave in her backyard. The aching, hollow sound of the dirt raining on her mother's casket. The way her fingers desperately clawed the soil as she struggled out of her own grave. There was so much death in these swallowed acres. 

Staring out into the vast space was starting to make her dizzy. Buffy turned and sat down, steadying herself before making her descent.

She had a ring to find.

Her plan was to stick to the path of least resistance and hope it led somewhere. To follow her own yellow brick road of Sunnydale debris. She picked her way around twisted metal, splintered wood, and a surprisingly intact Sun Cinema marquee.

The farther in she traveled, the more uneven the ground, so she found herself winding around mini-mountains of wreckage that cast long shadows in the valleys of dirt below.

After an hour or so of traveling this way, placing each step carefully, she was starting to second-guess herself. The landscape was too chaotic for her to have any clear destination. What if she was going in exactly the wrong direction? As she headed into another long stretch of black shadow, she shivered.

But it wasn't the chill. She felt an accompanying twist in her gut and froze.

She was absolutely sure someone — or something — was watching her.

†††

"Buffy?"

She heard Angel's voice in the familiar shape of her name and she felt her muscles unclench just a fraction. He was here, too. She wasn't alone in this desolate crater of ghosts. They could do this together.

But when he stepped closer, he looked...different. The same face and broad shoulders, but something hesitant in his eyes and the way he carried himself. He was Angel, but he wasn't the Angel she'd left in Romania. He looked younger somehow, slimmer. The way he looked when she first started doodling his name in her notebook during history class.

"You look different," he said, and she realized the confusion she felt was reflected on his face.

"Different how?" she asked, but she was starting to get the feeling she knew.

"Older," he confirmed. "Not 16, anyway."

"It's the cheeks that give it away," she said with a smile, patting her face self-consciously. "I had such a baby face."

"You have a perfect face," he said, and his quiet earnestness almost took her breath away. She missed this. She missed this him.

"Angel...when was the last time you saw me?"

"The real you?" At her slightly offended expression, he hastily added, "I mean, the younger you? Is this some kind of glamour? Did someone do this to you?"

"Something like that," she said.

He looked into her eyes, uncertain. "We were at the Bronze," he said. "We agreed that this couldn't ever..."

"Be anything. I remember," she said.

So that's who this was? Some kind of ghost of Angel's past? Maybe she was hallucinating. No, if she were hallucinating, he'd be carrying a magic metal detector. Or at the very least a shovel. God, could this soul quest get any more messed up?

She felt something like a scream burbling up in her stomach as she watched Angel watching her, the old smoldering intensity in his eyes. She had struggled so hard to understand him then, with all his mysterious ways, but now she could see that he had actually been less guarded. Almost innocent.

 _Watch that heart of yours_ , she wanted to tell him. _I'll stab a sword right through it._

Agitated, she started walking again and he followed. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

Was it against the rules to tell Past Angel about the trials? Was this some kind of trick? 

"I'm not really sure," she said. "I'm just...I'm looking for something."

"Can I help?"

"Are you supposed to be helping me?"

He didn't answer. Then she emerged into a patch of sunlight and he was gone.

†††

To hell with the cryptic, she decided after several long minutes of deliberation. She wasn't getting anywhere alone. She needed his help. She doubled back to the wreckage mountain where she first spotted him, hoping to find him there.

Which meant she was now in the Sunnydale crater hunting not just for an impossible-to-find circle of silver, but the Ghost of Boyfriends Past. Her life was the definition of wiggy. 

But it didn't take long before he was there, matching his strides to hers.

"I know I said I'd keep my distance." He picked up the conversation as if they'd never left off. "I guess you're probably wondering why I haven't just left town."

She stopped and faced him. "What?" The question was very far from what she'd been wondering. Even back when she was 16, she never wondered why he didn't leave town. She didn't want him to leave town. What she wanted was more kisses, even though she wasn't supposed to. 

But then she remembered that Sunnydale had embraced her first impression of it as a teenager and actually become a hole in the ground. "Wait, why _are_ you here?"

"I haven't told you this," he said. "But I was sent here to help you."

"By Mirela?" she asked, and his brow creased.

"No. By this guy, or, well, demon. Whistler."

So he really didn't know anything about the trials. Maybe he _was_ a product of her imagination.

"I wasn't sure why, Buffy. I didn't understand why me. But then this thing with Darla happened." 

Oh, right, Darla. Buffy remembered the shocked sound of Darla's voice cutting through the darkness of the Bronze. Angel's stake in her back. Her ashes crumbling all over the floor. 

"I think that's why I was chosen," he said. "Because of what I know about her. And the Master."

"Angel, the Master is gone. But I do need help with something else."

"This spell? I'll do whatever I can. But Buffy, I know the Master is still active. His minions have been hunting. I've seen them. You can't underestimate him."

So this was it? She'd found a potential source of help in her impossible quest, and all he could do was dole out advice that was almost a decade past its expiration date?

But something about what he said was tugging on her brain.

"You've seen them? Here?" she asked. "Angel, what does this place look like to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"When you look around you, what do you see?"

He breathed out an awkward almost-laugh. "Is this a trick question?" He looked into her eyes for a moment, then continued, more seriously. "I see cars, trees, houses. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Oh.

"Are you OK, Buffy? You need to tell me more about this spell."

Maybe a guy stuck in the past could be useful after all.

"Angel, do you think you could take me to Crawford Street? There's something there I need to find."


	8. Ring of Fire

If Ghost Angel noticed Buffy’s slow pace as she picked her way through the debris, he didn’t comment. None of this made any sense when Buffy tried to logic her way through it in her head, but she was happy just to have a lead to follow — anything to feel like she was getting somewhere in this Hellmouthhole.

Angel was leading her deeper into the crater, where towering debris blocked them from direct sunlight. It was a good thing, too, given the way he’d disappeared in the light earlier. The last thing she needed was to lose him again.

She focused on keeping herself upright and tried not to think about what fun surprises might await when they reached what used to be Crawford Street. She didn’t know how long she had to save Angel — non-ghost-variety Angel — and she would still have two trials to get through after this one. She couldn’t get lost in the dwell.

She turned her head just in time to catch Angel giving her a sidelong glance. She almost felt like blushing, like time had rewound for her, too. She tried to remember what it was like to be that Buffy, the one who was just a few weeks away from a putting on a white dress and marching off to certain death. What a brave and foolish girl she had been. And, oh, how that girl had loved Angel. She knew so little about him then, but he had saved her from Darla and kissed her in The Bronze and she’d left her heart behind when she walked away.

She hadn’t even understood then what it meant for Angel to dust his sire. To Buffy, Darla was just another vampire. A little different, of course, because of her history with Angel — one that Buffy hadn’t wanted to think too much about — but back then, Buffy would not have been able to imagine feeling anything for a soulless demon. She knew better now. She thought of the revulsion that had gone through her when Riley offered to take out “The Doctor” and how difficult it was to stop caring, even when you weren’t sure how you felt, even if you believed it was wrong.

And knowing what she knew now — that Darla would come back and have Angel’s child, that she would stake herself to give that child a chance at life — well, it made Buffy feel a little sick.

“That must’ve been hard for you,” she said.

Angel turned to her, his face blank.

“The thing with Darla, I mean,” Buffy clarified. “I was just thinking about what you said earlier.”

“It’s complicated,” he said. “But it wasn’t hard.”

“It wasn’t?”

“She was trying to kill you,” he reminded her. “I don’t regret it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Buffy let the silence envelop them again.

Angel gestured to the right, and Buffy realized they were turning into the remains of another graveyard. That wasn’t surprising, really, considering just how many cemeteries there had been inside the Sunnydale city limits.

“So if we find what you’re looking for, you can break the spell?” he asked.

“That’s the plan,” she said as she stepped over a broken headstone with the engraved words “In Loving” still visible.

“So what is it you’re looking for?”

“Something I lost a long time ago,” she said. “It’s a r—”

She’d stopped being careful for just a second and it had been a mistake. The ground shifted beneath her foot and she was plunging into the darkness. Angel grabbed for her — like that was going to help.

She landed hard, which wasn’t pleasant, but she didn’t seem to have broken or twisted anything vital. The bad news, she saw as she scrabbled to her feet, was that the pocket she had fallen into was deep and the sides practically sheer.

Angel came into view above her as he peered over the side of the pit.

“I’m OK!” she called up.

“I don’t understand,” he responded. “My hands…”

She shrugged. “So you’re incorporeal. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t have some body issues.”

Angel bent over and tried to pick up a rock from the edge of the hole. No luck. She wondered what this scene looked like to him. Had she fallen into a really deep open grave in an otherwise neatly maintained Restfield? She shuddered at the thought, but the logical part of her brain decided it was not worth going there. She started examining her surroundings for an escape route.

Having an apparition for a crater companion was so less than ideal right now. With no body, he wasn’t going to be much help getting her out of the pit. And, even worse, it meant that kissing was definitely out.

She actually laughed out loud at herself. Everything about this soul quest was 50 kinds of messed up, but apparently the thought of kissing Angel was never far from her mind when he was around.

And, boy, did she miss those kisses. The ones before they knew anything about perfect happiness clauses or how they might be triggered. When the possibilities between them were endless and exciting. When every kiss was one step closer, and they didn’t know how much they needed to hold back.

If she made it through these crazy trials, maybe she’d be able to kiss him like that again. And then do a hell of a lot more than kissing.

Feeling a surge of determination, she put all of her effort into an attempt to climb up one side of the pit, but the rocks and dirt just gave way. She slid right down with them.

This was just great. 

She’d made no progress unless you considered getting really dirty something to strive for. This was the way of Sunnydale, it seemed — always another hole to fall into, always that feeling of being stuck and, ultimately, alone.

“I’ve got it!” Angel said suddenly. “Look up here! Can you jump up on this side and grab these roots?”

Hmm. When she moved closer, she could see the same roots were visible in her version of the world. Maybe this situation wasn’t so hopeless after all.

She spent a few seconds gathering her mental focus as she mapped out the root route in her mind.

"Here goes nothing," she said. She took a few steps back to get room for a bit of a running start, then leaped. When her hands found the roots, she half-expected them to rip apart in her grasp, but they held. She pulled herself up, hand over hand, until she could swing her leg up to the side and haul herself out.

Angel reached to help her, but pulled his hands back as if he'd been burned when they passed through her instead.

"Thanks," she said once she was finally clear of the pit. "I would have been down there a lot longer without you."

He looked at her intently. "Buffy, what’s going on? This spell...It’s not you that it’s having an effect on, is it? It’s doing something to me."

"I think there’s magic at work on both of us," she said. "But I don't just look older, Angel. I am older. I really am 24."

"So it's some kind of time travel?" His brow creased.

"I don't think so. I...I'm not sure how I'm even seeing you, honestly. I don’t really have any answers. All I know is that I still need to get to Crawford Street, if you can take me there."

Angel looked down at his hands again for a moment and then started walking obligingly. His confusion and agitation lingered at first, but gradually his demeanor seemed to lighten and he began to shoot little glances her way. At one point, a half-smile appeared on his lips and stayed there, which was incredibly distracting to her efforts to not fall into another pit. Finally she had to stop and ask: "What? What is it?"

He didn't pretend not to know what she meant. "You're really 24?"

"Really really. Why?"

His smile grew wider. "So you made it. You got through all of this."

"Not without the necessary ingredients for a ginormous therapy bill,” she said, “but yes, I guess I did."

He beamed at her with so much admiration and affection that she felt a little silly. But then she remembered. Angel had first seen her when she was just a Potential. And now she knew what that was like, to see a young woman who was about to be kicked in the teeth by destiny, and to want to help so badly but to also know that she was probably going to die.

And Buffy _had_ died, twice, and some of the Potentials hadn't made it. But she was still there — partly because of his help — and now she was helping new slayers all over the world. She'd shared her strength, given them what she could. That was all they could ever hope to do.

She was smiling too as they continued walking, but her face fell when Ghost Angel stopped and gestured ahead of him. "Crawford Street," he said.

It was a cliff.

There was nothing but blackness below.

"OK," she said. "New plan."

"What's the problem?"

"I can already tell we're not going to find it here. I need to think."

"You should tell me. All of it. Maybe I can help."

"That's probably a good idea."

"But, Buffy, I have to know one thing first." His eyes darted toward her, then away. "In the future, am I still a part of your life?"

She wished she could reach out and touch him. "You haven't always been," she said truthfully. "But I'm hoping you can be again, if I can find this damn ring."

"It's a ring?"

"Yeah, it's...just like the one you wear, actually. But smaller."

"A Claddagh ring?" He looked down at his hand for a moment and then pulled something silver from the breast pocket of his blazer. He held it out to her. "Like this?"

Her heart nearly stopped beating. "You have it?" she choked out.

With the hand that wasn't holding the ring, he rubbed his neck sheepishly. "I saw it in a window not long ago, on a day when I was...forgetting myself. But I thought maybe I could give it to you someday. Maybe as something to remember me by."

"Angel," she breathed out. Her thoughts were a jumble, but her hand reached toward him anyway.

"But if you need it now..." He was still a ghost, his hand couldn't touch hers, but the ring was real enough as he slid it onto her finger. She could feel the cool smoothness slipping over her skin.

She looked up at him, both awed and stricken. His eyes went wide with surprise. She didn't know what was happening. She tried to find words but before she could even open her mouth to speak, she was spinning back into the darkness.

†††

When she re-emerged by the purple campfire, the first thing Buffy checked was the ring. It was still there, glinting gorgeously in the firelight.

She looked over at Angel. If she were someone else, someone who didn't know him, he would look the same. But there was something around his eyes now that was different. He seemed more powerful, more imposing, even just sitting there. But love and concern for her were still written all over his face. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, but in this strange shadow realm, it seemed impossible to move from her spot near the fire.

Suddenly, anger rose in her throat.

"What the hell was that?" she snapped at Mirela.

Mirela looked unperturbed. "I do not control these magicks," she said evenly. "These trials come from what is inside you." She laid a hand over her heart, looking first at Buffy and then at Angel.

"Buffy, you can stop now. You don't have to keep putting yourself through this," Angel said.

"It's not that," she answered quietly. "Don't worry about me."

"I am sorry, but you do not have time for this. You must continue," Mirela said. "You must look into the fire once again."

Buffy's eyes lingered on Angel for a moment, reassuring him, but then they sought out the flames. She needed to know what could possibly be next.

The seconds stretched out maddeningly before the smoke began to coalesce into something recognizable. Something long and pointy, with an ornate handle.

Oh, no. Oh, it couldn't be.

Buffy half-covered her eyes with her fingers as she realized what she was seeing. She knew where the next trial would take her.

She was going to hell.


	9. What Dreams May Come

This time, Buffy didn't land with a thump.

Instead, the spinning blackness around her gradually faded away, replaced by a soft, glowing white light. She felt no pain. No forces trying to pull her apart. She was whole and full and warm. Weightless.

She wasn't breathing, exactly, but she sensed a calm rhythm, like waves caressing the shore and sliding back again. And with each pulse, she grew more and more sure that everything would be OK. Her worries receded and receded until they just didn't exist.

There wasn't anything to be upset about. It would all work itself out. She didn't need to do anything but...be. Everyone loved her and she loved everyone and nothing could ever go wrong again.

All that existed was light. There was no need for hope, no need for faith, because every answer to every question was part of her. She was connected to all of it. Her soul was aglow with it.

She knew this place.

It was heaven.

Or what she thought of as heaven. The place she had been. Before.

Had she died again?

It didn't matter. It wasn't important. She was happy. Everyone she had ever known was being taken care of.

She stopped trying to think. She just was.

†††

There was no time, so time didn't pass.

A second, an hour, a year later, and yet before she ever arrived, before she was, and also now, right now, a thought slithered up from some unknowable depth and coiled in her consciousness.

_Angel's soul will be destroyed._

_Destroyed._

_He will not be OK._

The gentle rhythm of the waves around her grew louder until they crashed like thunder, drowning everything else out.

_All will be as it should be._

_There is only light. Only light._

The serpentine thought had wriggled away from her, but she dug in hard with all the self she had left and pulled. Somehow, she knew.

_This isn't real._

Pinpricks of black pierced the light around her. All at once, she was aware of her body. Her limbs were heavy. Cold. She felt the thought again.

_This isn't real._

The punctured light ebbed away from her on all sides. She wasn't just cold. She was wet and shivering. Still, she hugged the thought close.

_This isn't real._

The light was gone — gone — leaving only an echo in her ears.

_You are not worthy._

_There is nothing good or clean in you._

_Now you are dead inside._

The despondent blackness rushed in to devour her. She hurt. All over, she hurt. And she was all alone. 

What had she done?

She pulled her knees to her chest and ducked her head down against them. All she could think of was the light. She had lost it. Again. How had she let this happen?

Her throat ached with longing for the light. It had been only a trick. Angel was in danger. But none of that mattered. Nothing mattered, the evil darkness murmured. She was forsaken.

She was here. She must deserve to be here.

In hell.

†††

For so long, there was nothing. 

She was nothing, tiny and alone, curled around herself. There was only darkness around her, only darkness inside her head.

She knew time passed quickly here — it always seemed to in hell dimensions. Angel had spent 100 years in Acathla's dimension in the space of a few months.

_Angel._

Somewhere he was out there. She was supposed to be helping him.

But it couldn't possibly matter, could it? She couldn't save him. No one could be saved. Everyone ended up here, in the dark. Alone.

All that existed was the blackness. There was no need for faith here, no need for hope, because every answer to every question was a part of her. And the answer was a blank.

For so long, there was nothing. 

But then, somehow, there was a scream.

She wasn't screaming. She had to actually check, lifting her hands to her mouth and her ears.

She tried to stand up, but she couldn't get her bearings in the total blackout. She curled back into a ball, leaning her forehead onto her knees.

Again, a scream. A woman screaming.

This time, when she lifted her face, she could see. Not much. Everything around her was still dark, but now a part was less-dark. She scrambled to her feet, guiding herself into the less-dark.

She was afraid of what she would find. But being afraid was better than being nothing.

The feel of her body moving broke through some of the icy despair that had crept inside her, the despair that permeated every molecule of this place. She had been to hell before, though briefly, but it had never felt like this. So far, no demons had appeared to beat or enslave her, but she was more in danger of losing herself alone in the dark.

 _Buffy Summers, Buffy Summers, Buffy Summers,_ she chanted with each step.

"Buffy!" the woman screamed, joining the chorus.

_Willow._

Willow was in hell? Why would Willow be in hell?

But she was. Buffy could see her now, running with a michianius demon on her heels. The demon caught up to Willow as Buffy ran headlong in her direction. Just the demon's claws closed around Willow's arm, Buffy bounced hard against some kind of invisible barrier and was sent sprawling onto her back.

"Willow!" she yelled.

The demon lifted Willow into the air. Before he could deliver a killing blow, she managed to wriggle out of her jacket and run away. The demon gave chase, but Buffy couldn't see them anymore. She could only hear Willow's continued cries for her help.

Amid them, Willow appeared calmly at her side, sitting cross-legged and looking like her high school self in a fuzzy pink sweater.

"You won't save me, y'know," she said conspiratorially. "If you really wanted to help me, you could." 

"No," Buffy said. "There's some kind of barrier. I can't get through to...you. The other you."

"And who's responsible for that, mister?"

"I don't know." Buffy closed her eyes and reopened them. Willow was still there. And another Willow was still yelling for her, somewhere farther away.

"You do know. You won't save me because I flipped the switch," Willow said sagely.

"You what?"

"Turned off the light, dummy. Took you away from your communion with the cosmos. The first time, I mean."

"No. We've been over this."

"Have we?" Willow raised an eyebrow. "When's the last time you really talked to me when you didn't need some mojo? 'Hey, Wil, find a way to bring me back from my interdimensional walkabout.' 'Hey, Wil, make me an army of slayers.' Blah, blah. You get the not-so-pretty picture. You cut me out, Buffy."

Her words burned. This couldn't really be Willow. But that didn't mean what she was saying wasn't true.

"It's not like you make it easy," Buffy said, unable to resist defending herself. "You — well, the you you are now, not this you — you're always off on some magical mystery tour. South America, the astral plane, anywhere you can find as long as it's far away."

"Maybe I can't stand the way you look at me."

"Willow..." Buffy got to her feet. "No, this isn't you. There can't be two yous. And you're not even here. I'm in _hell_."

"Being with me is being in hell. Yeah, that's how you felt about all of us, isn't it?"

"No..." Buffy shook her head. "That's not what I meant. I love you. You're my best friend."

"And yet you knew you were heading off on some impossible quest and you didn't call. You didn't even tuck a letter in your hotel room for me, like you did for Giles."

"I wanted to talk to you. I didn't know how to reach you."

"Oh, that's handy. You didn't try." Willow stood up, too. She looked exasperated. "What is all this even for, anyway? You've come all the way to hell because Angel's soul needs saving _again_? Are you sure it's even worth it at this point? I mean, look at him."

Willow's eyes were focused on something behind Buffy. She swiveled, hope jumping into her bruised heart. Was Ghost Angel back to help her again?

She saw a man standing nearby, hunched over, but it took a moment for Buffy to register that it was Angel. His hair was longer than she'd ever seen it, matted and unkempt. His face and clothes were dirty. He looked like he hadn't eaten in months.

Buffy turned back to Willow, but she was gone. Buffy realized she could no longer hear any screaming.

She took a few steps toward the strange vision before her, tingles prickling up her back. "Angel?"

His startled eyes met hers for a moment. He seemed to size her up, as if she might be a threat. When she didn't attack, he turned away without acknowledging her.

"Angel!" she said more insistently. He didn't bother to even glance her way this time. She inched closer, a queasy feeling in her stomach. "Look, I know you're not real," she said softly. "But I was hoping you could help me."

He didn't answer, just stared off blankly into space. Now that she was closer, she could smell him. It wasn't a pleasant experience. "Angel, please."

Something in her tone must have gotten through to him, because he finally turned his head back to face her. He swallowed as he stared at her. "Do I know you?" he rumbled at last, his voice trickling out like brown water from a rusty faucet. 

"It's me," she said. "Buffy."

"I'm sorry," he answered hoarsely, shaking his head slightly. "I can't help you."

His face betrayed not even a flicker of recognition. She was a stranger to him. She began to back away, her heart thumping in her ears.

She looked around her wildly, but Willow was still nowhere in sight. All she could see was an Angel who didn't know her, certainly didn't love her and apparently wasn't going to help her.

Of course. It was hell.


	10. Hath No Fury

Angel was still watching her. His eyes seemed to soften as he took in her distress. His brow creased a little.

She stopped backing away. She couldn’t let misery overwhelm her now. She couldn’t give into the darkness. She couldn’t afford to run away.

“Why?” she asked suddenly. “ _Why_ can’t you help me?”

His whole face shut down, the soft light going out of his eyes. “I can’t help anyone,” he said. “Just look at me.”

“Who did this to you?” Her words came out in a whisper.

“You should really leave me alone. I told you I can’t help.”

“Not good enough,” she snapped, feeling a welcome surge of anger at his apathy. Anger she could work with, she could _use_. “Don’t you even care how I know you?”

“I can guess,” he said.

“You can?” she said, surprised.

“You brought me to hell,” he said. “That is where we are, right? I deserve to be here.”

“ _I_ brought you to—” Buffy cut herself off, remembering the look on his face as Acathla opened its jaws and swallowed Angel whole. Panic raced through her. What if Angel had never actually escaped this place? What if this was the real Angel, gone for so many years he’d lost his memory of her?

“Have you...been here long?” she asked.

“You could say that.” He almost made an expression. “But not here exactly. Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Ew.” She crinkled her nose. “Please tell me that’s not a real thing.”

“New York City,” he clarified.

New York. That meant pre-Sunnydale. Angel had told her very little about that time. But it explained why he didn’t know her.

“Before we go any further, I’m just going to ask you a question.” She waited until he was looking right into her eyes. “Do you have a sword?”

“A sword?”

“Yeah. Fancy handle, long blade. It slices, it dices?” She knew it was a long shot, but she wasn’t going to waste a bunch of time poking around the corners of hell if he had what she needed again.

“I don’t have anything,” he said. “I can’t—”

“No. Stop saying that. You _can_ help me. Do you really think you have something better to do here? Plus, it’s like your destiny.”

A funny look crossed his face. “What?”

“Some really annoying guy is going to find you and bring you to me, so you can help me. There’s a whole cross-country road trip and some borderline stalking in there, but let’s not get lost in the details. Anyway, today’s your lucky day, because now you can get a head start on the whole helping-me thing.”

“My lucky day involves me going to hell?”

“Well, maybe not lucky in the traditional sense, but—”

The screaming had started again. This time it wasn’t Willow. It sounded distinctly male and distinctly terrified.

Angel was looking at his shoes. Buffy rolled her eyes and took off in the direction of the horrifying sound.

In the pit of her stomach, she already knew it would be Xander. The michianius had left a trail of claw marks down his back and he was bleeding. His eye locked with hers. “Buffy!”

She ran shoulder-first this time, hoping she could smash through the invisible barrier like a door. Instead, she bounced back even harder.

Another Xander stood over her, wearing one of those button-up-and-T-shirt combos in crazy patterns that he used to favor and no eyepatch. He reached out a hand to help her up.

“So this is where you were headed,” he said. “You coulda told me.”

“No, I couldn’t. It was part of the crazy rules.”

“Right. Either that, or you knew I’d try to stop you.”

Buffy bit her lip as the bloody Xander in the distance tried crawling away from the michianius demon on his hands and knees. He’d stopped screaming.

“How many times are you going to try to throw your life away on this guy?” teenage Xander asked.

“I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Oh, I understand. I know what it’s like to lose the love of your life. Only mine isn’t getting the return ticket like your boyfriends always do.”

“Xander…”

“I know you feel like you have to do this. But have you stopped to consider that this is a hopeless case? That maybe it’s time to let go, like I had to? Like Willow had to? Maybe this is what he deserves.”

Buffy watched as the faraway Xander disappeared into the blackness. “To have his soul destroyed? How is that fair?”

“He told you himself. He’s done plenty of damage with his soul.” Xander was looking behind her, and Buffy turned around.

There was Angel, his long hair falling around his face as he drank from a man lying prone on the floor of some kind of diner. Nearby, an Angel with short, sleek hair turned to a tentacled demon and said coldly, "Take them all."

Buffy turned her back on the images. "I don't need to see this. I know Angel has made mistakes. What about the good he's done? Does that just not count?"

"Maybe it's not enough. Maybe he deserves to suffer."

"He has suffered. He spent 100 years here." Buffy's eyes narrowed. "Why can't you get over this? It's like 'kick his ass' all over again."

"You're still hung up on that, aren't you?" Xander said. "It's why you won't save me."

She heard Xander cry out one last time in distance. She turned her head toward the sound, and when she turned back, teenage Xander was gone.

The blackness surrounded her again. She was no closer to finding the sword, her friends had disappeared, and the despair was closing in, threatening to pull her under.

She only had one thing left.

†††

She wasn’t surprised when Angel appeared again. He was sitting in a heap, looking as small and unobtrusive as possible in his ragged clothing. She sat down next to him.

“I asked before who did this to you,” Buffy said by way of greeting. “But I know. You did. You put yourself in hell.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even lift his head from where it rested on his arms.

“It wasn’t just for what you did before the curse. You couldn’t figure out how to live in the world. You screwed up.”

He turned enough that she could see one brown eye looking at her.

“I know you can help me. But you have to believe it. You have to stop punishing yourself.”

His eye closed. She watched him for a minute, then stood up and walked away.

†††

She didn’t know where she was going. Just from black to lighter black. She chanted again in her head as she stepped: _Buffy Summers, Buffy Summers, Buffy Summers._

A michianius demon appeared before her out of nowhere, looming over Willow’s prone form.

_These trials come from what is inside you._

She recognized them now, the black scars on her soul come to life. She could hold onto all these doubts and fears, regrets and recriminations, let them consume her, or she could kick some demon ass and make things better.

Buffy closed her eyes, breathed deep and kicked hard. She connected with a satisfying thwack. She smiled.

She started pummeling the demon as best she could. Her cold limbs felt weaker than usual, but the more she punched and kicked and bashed, the warmer she felt.

“Buffy!” Willow yelled. She managed to get to her feet, and she threw her own kick the demon’s way. Buffy smiled wider.

The michianius roared when Buffy landed a direct hit to the stomach, knocking him over. From there, it was quick work to finish him off. His neck snapped with a crunch.

Buffy turned to Willow and squeezed her tight.

"I am so figuring out how to get through to the astral plane when I get home," Buffy said. "I miss you. I want us to be close again."

Willow smiled her sweetest smile. She faded quickly from view, but Buffy was left with a feeling of strength, almost as if her friend's spirit were still with her.

Now it was Xander’s turn.

Her feet moved faster through the blackness. The second demon put up a struggle, but it was no match for Buffy. She jumped on its back like she'd done with the michianius on the street in Bucharest, and let it wear itself out in the struggle to break free.

Then with another crunch, it was over.

Xander was still bleeding, but he smiled as she approached and helped him to his feet. She hugged him gingerly. "That was a bit of a close call, Buff."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't understand before."

He nodded. "Let's talk about this all later," he said as he began to disappear. And she knew it wasn't really him, but a promise she was making to herself. Even after everything that had happened, her friends were a part of her that she didn’t want to lose. It wouldn’t be simple, but she thought maybe she was ready to let them back in.

The black around her seemed less black. She felt warm again, more like herself. She started walking, somehow knowing she was heading back to Angel. He had his own black scars they needed to deal with, but they would find the sword together. She knew it.

So when the blade sliced into her skin, it was a total surprise. She gasped as the blood welled up on her arm.

Another michianius demon grinned evilly at her as she whirled around. Behind him, Angel still sat in a heap.

The michianius began swinging its sword again — it was _the_ sword, it had to be — and Buffy was so caught up in dodging its blows she could hardly think straight. The demon feinted and she fell for it, leaving one side completely open to his kick.

She fell to the ground, and for the second time in three days, she was under the foot of a michianius demon, pinned in place and struggling.

"Angel!" she yelled.

The demon loomed over her, growling. She looked up into its red eyes as it pressed its clawed foot even harder against her. The demon touched the point of the sword to her throat.

She could just make out Angel's hunched-over form in the distance. He wasn't getting up.


	11. Cuts Both Ways

The demon seemed to enjoy watching Buffy squirm beneath its foot, the steel of the sword against her neck. She wondered momentarily if she could die in this hell, or if she would just pop up again, Mario-like, for more torture. She didn't want to find out.

The michianius lifted the sword away, and she braced for the final blow. But then she heard Angel cry out and the sound of something thumping into the demon from behind. It whirled around with a roar, releasing Buffy from underfoot, and she immediately rolled away.

Angel was clearly weak and no match for the demon. In the seconds it took to get back to her feet, the demon had lunged for him and, with one quick thrust, buried the sword through his chest.

The blow wouldn't kill a vampire, but the look of shock and confusion on Angel's face was so familiar that she felt sick to her stomach. He'd come through for her when she desperately needed him, and she'd gotten him another sword through the heart.

She flew at the demon in a fury. It turned from Angel, letting go of the sword, and met Buffy blow for blow. She held nothing back, using every ounce of her strength to pummel the scaly yellow beast until it went down. Then she made sure it wouldn't get back up.

"Angel," she said urgently, turning to him.

He was still in shock, his mouth open and his eyes wide. He had made a feeble effort to grip the sword with his hands, but hadn't tried to pull it from his body.

Tears welled in her eyes as she moved to him. This is what she had done to him, what had been haunting her. Could she let go of even this?

She reached out and put her hands on top of his. His eyes met hers and the power of it sent a shock through her, sent the tears sliding down her cheeks.

She pulled his hands away from the sword. Then she grasped the handle herself. 

"I'm sorry," she choked out. As quickly and as carefully as she could, she drew the long blade back through his chest. He made a strangled sound of pain, but his eyes never left hers.

It felt like forever, but it was only a moment, and then the sword was clear. Her hands couldn’t keep their grip and she let it drop. Her whole body was trembling; her knees weak.

His wound was bleeding and she thought hers must be, too, somewhere deep inside her chest.

She threw her arms around Angel anyway, heedless of the blood, the rags and the dirt. 

"Buffy," he whispered, and there was so much in that one word that it took her breath away. She felt his tears against her temple and she pulled back, raising a hand to the side of his face.

Their lips touched with a sweetness that was almost unbearable, relief and love and memory fusing into physical sensation. She clung to him as the darkness around them began to flash into light. And all too soon, she was spinning away into nothingness.

†††

When Buffy opened her eyes, she was back in the in-between world. The sword was at her feet, gleaming in the firelight, clean of Angel's blood. She hated it — the cold steel that had pierced his heart and broken hers all those years ago. This symbol of their mutual punishment.

It wouldn't come between them again.

Using every bit of her concentration and effort, she was able to pick it up, fighting against the strange inertia of this place. She lobbed it toward the mystical fire. It moved slowly through the rippling air before the flames swallowed it, flashing white before returning to purple.

Only then could she look at Angel. He was panting, his brow glistening in the unnatural light. She didn't know how these trials worked for him, what he could see or feel from this place, but he had been with her in those final minutes of hell, when she pulled the sword from his chest. She was sure of it. She had felt it in the surge that swept through her when their eyes met, in the way he said her name.

She tried to concentrate again, to move to him. She felt scrubbed raw and exposed. She wanted to hide away in Angel's arms until she could grow a new skin. But the very air around her resisted, pinning her in place.

"You must save your strength," Mirela said as she struggled. "You are so close now, but you cannot know what lies ahead."

Buffy sank back and let herself go still. "Was any of that even real?" she asked Mirela weakly.

The sound of her voice seemed to startle Angel, who turned his head toward her sharply. He pressed his hand over his chest. Then, as if reassured, he rubbed it over his damp face.

"Felt real to me," he said, just above a whisper.

"You saved me," Buffy said tenderly.

"No. That wasn't...I mean, it was, but I wasn't..." He trailed off, tangled in his own words. "You saved me."

"Not yet," she answered, shaking her head. "Two down."

She set her jaw and looked to Mirela, a feeling of resolve settling over her. She was going to finish this. Whatever else was waiting inside her for this magic to find, she was ready.

"Show me what's next," she said, training her eyes on the fire. "A symbol of forgiveness, right?"

Once again, the seconds stretched as she watched the dancing flames. She could hear Angel making another protest about her finishing the trials, but she ignored him. She was way too close to stop now. Forgiveness had to be easier than punishment, didn't it? But she knew the answer to that was a big fat no. Somehow she doubted they'd go easy on her this close to the finish line.

The smoke began to curl, forming what appeared to be a necklace. A pinkish stone on a cord. For the first time, it wasn't something she immediately recognized. Which didn't make sense. What happened to the trials coming from what's inside you?

"I don't understand," she said.

But apparently the magic decided there was no need for clarifications, because she was already whirling again. All she could do was hold on for the ride.

†††

The scene that greeted her when she stopped was just as confusing, but in the opposite way. It was _too_ familiar. She almost pinched herself as she looked around at the neat row of houses, the trees, the couple walking their dog.

Of all the places in all the worlds, she never expected to be standing in front of Giles' home in London. A place she'd been a million times before. It couldn't be this easy. She wasn't just going to be able to walk into Giles' house, sit down on the worn leather sofa and describe a mystical what-zit to him as she drank tea and tried not to scarf too many scones. She imagined him paging through the dusty reference books until he discovered the exact location of the next item on her list.

Wait. Picturing Giles in her head as he leaned over a stack of books was triggering something in her memory. A red leather cord around his neck. A flash of pink stone.

The necklace in the smoke. It was Giles'? She vaguely remembered it now. It was usually just a hint of the red cord, with the rest tucked away under his clothes, but occasionally she'd seen the stone. Just a pretty rock that she assumed had some sort of significance for spells or something. She'd never even thought to ask about it.

A weird feeling bloomed in her stomach. She felt like she should know more than she did, like she was going into battle unprepared. But that was silly. This was Giles. The two of them had never quite gotten back to the place they'd been before he left Sunnydale, but they were still a good team.

As she stood staring at his front door, drops of cold rain began to fall from the overcast sky. It was enough to get her feet moving, propelling her forward to his front stoop and the shelter it provided.

Before she lost momentum, she took a deep breath, lifted her hand and knocked. She could hear someone moving inside, and the door opened after a slight delay. Giles was there, drying his hands on a dishcloth. He looked like his usual self, dressed in jeans and a sweater, his trademark glasses in place. She saw the tiniest hint of the red cord around his neck.

"Buffy." Giles smiled in greeting. "Xander said you had a lead on the michianius demon that would take you out of Bucharest, but I never dreamt it would bring you this far."

"Neither did I," Buffy said ruefully as he began to step back to allow her inside.

"Is Angel with you?" he asked.

"Of course I am," said a voice from inside the house.

Giles spun around. Buffy moved out from behind Giles and stopped short. The sight in front of her filled her with dread.

Angel's eyes were cold and hard, his lips curled into a smirk. "I would never miss a chance to see my old buddy Rupert."


	12. Doubt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that this chapter contains offensive language about Romani people (from Angelus).

Buffy's first instinct was to lunge for him. But her hands grabbed air instead of his throat, and she flew straight through him, slamming into a table and falling with it to the floor. It broke beneath her painfully.

He laughed. "Now, now, Buff, that's no way to greet your lover."

She got to her feet, rubbing her sore arm. She'd forgotten how much this voice made her skin crawl, so like Angel's and so not. But she was relieved that he was only a phantom. Less worry about having to make with the staking. Her visions had been solid in hell, but in this dimension, it was back to ghosts.

"What's happening?" Giles asked. "The First again?"

"Never mistake me for that old windbag," Angelus said, rising into a falsetto. "'Oh, I'm so scary. I'm not going to kill you, but I'll make you feel really bad about it.'" He rolled his eyes.

"Yes, my sincerest apologies," Giles deadpanned. "Buffy, some help here, please. Has Angel lost his soul again?"

"I don't think so," Buffy said, getting her bearings. "I think this is just to make things harder for me."

"Isn't that how it always goes with this guy?" Angelus broke in. "He just wants to _help_ and he ends up making your life hell. And you keep coming back for more!"

"Angel is doing this?" she asked, knowing she probably shouldn't trust him.

"He keeps staring into that fire, trying to send himself after you. He keeps forgetting what he truly is." A slow grin spread across his features. "Me."

"You're not Angel. He's more than you."

"Still in denial, huh?"

"Buffy, _what_ is going on?" Giles interrupted forcefully.

Buffy felt a stab of confusion. Mirela had warned her not to let her friends interfere. Was she somehow supposed to ask for the necklace without mentioning the trials? How could she explain Casper the bastardly ghost?

But he took the matter out of her hands. "It's those pain-in-the-ass gypsies again," he spit. "I got rid of your little piece and her creepy uncle, but they keep popping up like roaches."

Buffy saw Giles wince at the mention of Jenny. "The demons in Bucharest were being controlled by one of Ms. Calendar's cousins," she explained. "She was trying to warn Angel that his soul was in danger."

"And now Buffy's trying to save me. Funny how she doesn't care that I exterminated the love of your life."

"I'm not saving _you_ ," Buffy countered angrily. "Angel's soul would be permanent. You'd never be able to get out again."

"That soul does nothing to get rid of me. I'm always inside. It'll still be my hands touching you, my mouth on your pretty little neck."

He had moved closer as he spoke. Close enough to touch if he were corporeal. She was powerless to stop him as he leaned in next to her ear. "You remember how it felt to have my fangs in your throat, baby. I know you do."

She pressed her lips together, wishing she could block out his effect on her, the way the words climbed down her spine like a shiver.

Then a blue powder was raining down over them. "Begone, spirit! You have no power here," Giles said commandingly. Angelus raised his eyebrows and then disappeared.

Buffy took a deep breath. "Thank you," she said shakily.

"The effects will likely be temporary," Giles said. "The spell blocks all spirits, from harmless to malevolent, and covering that much of the magical spectrum for long requires more power than I have. We should use this time wisely. You must tell me everything."

†††

They were sitting on the couch, staring straight ahead, unable to look each other in the eye now that Buffy had poured out the story of Mirela and the trials, about the Sunnydale crater and hell. Now that she'd told him what was required for the final step to be complete.

"So you...you need me to hand over the only possession of Jenny's that I..." Giles trailed off. He didn't sound angry, but intensely weary. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"I know it's a lot to ask of you," Buffy said. "I would never, if it didn't mean...And it's not like it will be gone forever. I still have the r—"

But when she looked down at her left hand, the Claddagh ring was gone. She wondered if she had lost it in hell, or if it had been the price she paid for throwing the sword in the fire. Either way, it meant she couldn't offer Giles any assurances. The silence spooled out between them.

At last, she said, "It wasn't easy for me to convince Angel to let me try to save him...I think he would tell you to keep it."

"Of course he would," said a mocking voice behind them. "He's pathetic. Luckily, that works out well for me."

"I understand if you can't forgive him," Buffy said, trying to ignore Angelus' return. "But—"

"I don't think that's his problem, Buff. But you always have been a little slow." Angelus moved to stand in front of them and she blew out an annoyed breath as she met his eyes. She hated that she wanted to know what he had to say.

"Rupert knows what I am. He doesn't need to forgive me. I'm evil, don't you see? That's just the way it goes. And he doesn't need to forgive that tortured soul, either. Rupert here still resents him, of course, but he doesn't really hold him responsible." Angelus looked to Giles, as if to gauge his effect. "It's someone else that ol' Rupie can't bring himself to forgive."

Buffy looked at Giles, unable to speak. He was shaking his head. "Buffy, no..."

"Actually, Buffy yes." Angelus looked gleeful. "You have to ask yourself, 'Do I really deserve a happily ever after when Daddy will never get his lady love back?'" He pretended to sniffle. "It's so tragic."

"Don't listen to him. It's not your fault that—"

"Yes, it is," Buffy said in a small voice. "I couldn't kill him when you needed me to. And here I am, asking you to save him."

"Poor Rupert's never had a real family. You took that away from him. You were too weak. And now you want to take away all he has left of his beloved Janna."

"That's not so," Giles protested.

"Things have been strained between us for a long time," Buffy said, looking at her lap.

"No," Giles said. "I know we've not been quite right, Buffy, but it's not..."

"Sure it is," Angelus said. "Every time you hear Puccini, every time you smell a rose...You remember. What she allowed to happen."

All the remaining color drained from Giles' face. There was nothing Buffy could do. She couldn't fight a ghost. She couldn't hit him.

Her eyes landed on the blue powder Giles had left on the table. "Shut up!" Buffy yelled, impulsively grabbing a handful and throwing it into Angelus' face. 

Shockingly, he vanished.

"Wow," she said. "I, uh, wasn't really expecting that to work."

"It won't, for long."

They stared at each other before beginning to talk at once. Giles held up his hand. "Please, Buffy. I should have spoken to you long ago." He stood up, taking a few awkward steps before thinking better of it and sitting back down.

"It was easier. After Willow brought you back. To pretend you were better off without me. Because I couldn't bear letting you down again. Losing you again." He sighed. "And even when I realized how wrong I was...I made it worse. I didn't know how to fit back in. And I was still afraid of you relying too much on anyone, least of all me."

"You really haven't stopped me," Buffy said with a little smile. "I still rely on you."

"But for research, for magic."

"No," she said. "Not only for that."

He looked pained. "Our ghostly visitor was right about one thing. There is someone I can't forgive. But it's me."

"It _was_ hard for me," she said quietly. "That you left. I thought you didn't...." She balled her hands into fists, feeling her nails in her palms. "I guess I still think that you don't."

"Nothing could be further from the truth. There is no one on this earth more important to me than you."

She reached out and he grasped her hand. His eyes were soft and tender.

"But what about..." She had to look away. "I mean, what he said about me was right, too. It was my fault...with Ms. Calendar."

"I do not blame you. I swear to it."

"I still blame myself."

He squeezed her hand and then let go. He started to take the leather cord from around his neck. "The rose quartz is known for its healing powers." He looked down at the pink stone, cradling it in his palm. "That's why Jenny had it. Maybe it's what we both need."

She put her hand over his, feeling the smooth stone between them. Then she watched over his shoulder as Angelus' face began to materialize before her eyes.

Good. She was ready.


	13. Cookies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that this chapter contains offensive language about Romani people (from Angelus).

Warmth was spreading from the rose quartz through Buffy's hand and up her arm, distracting her from the ominous shape coming into focus.

"I can feel it," she told Giles.

"You’re giving her the rock?" Angelus said. "Huh. I thought you loved your gypsy girl more than that."

Buffy ignored him. "Thanks for sharing this with me," she said to Giles. "I haven't thought of her as much as I should. There are so many now....that we've lost. But she meant so much to you, and I'm sorry."

Angelus was still droning on, but it was like she couldn't hear him.

"I loved Jenny," Giles said. "But, please, don't think of who she was to me. Think of who she was. She was brave and—and caring and tenacious. Jenny was trying to save Angel's soul when she died. She wouldn't want us to let it be destroyed."

Giles brought the stone to his lips and kissed it. Then he put it into Buffy's palm and closed her fingers around it.

Buffy knew what she had to do.

She stood and faced Angelus, still gripping the stone in her hand. "For all your trash-talking the First, you're seeming like a pretty weak imitation." She moved closer, slowly. "You get off on this, I know. Trying to break us. Preying on our shame. The darkness we all have inside. And you'll always be part of him. I accept that."

She moved quickly, before he could react. "But you're going to be stuck with a soul for good, asshole," she said as she looped the cord around his neck. It worked, as she knew it would, just like when Ghost Angel had put the ring on her finger in the crater.

And again, it was suddenly Angel's eyes she was looking into. He held something out toward her. A carved wooden box. Before she could ask him what it was, what was happening, he disappeared.

The necklace and the box both clattered to the floor.

Giles picked up the rose quartz and started to hand it back to her, but Buffy stopped him.

"I don't think I'll be needing that anymore," she said with a smile. "You should keep it." She gestured to the box. "We did win, right? I don't think that's big enough to be a year's supply of Turtle Wax."

"I've seen this," Giles said, his eyebrows lifting. He stooped down to pick it up. "These carvings...It's a Kalderash artifact. There was a rendering in Jenny's papers, in her research about Angel's curse."

"Any chance it's full of cookies? Oh, or chocolate? Because I could really use either of those."

Giles ran his finger over the intricate designs on the lid. "I believe it holds memories."

"Handy," Buffy said. "Sometimes they get too unwieldy for one little brain."

"Jenny thought it might contain the family secrets that had been lost to her over the years. That, if she could find the right one, she might discover how to restore Angel's soul."

"Wait. I just went to all this trouble and we still have to figure out how to permanently attach Angel's soul?"

"No, I don't think so. Completing the trials should be enough for that," Giles said distractedly, putting the box down and heading to one of the bookshelves, where he pulled out a volume. "Here it is." He showed her the image. "A sephony box. Used as a mystical container for memories." 

He read a bit more, then looked up from the page. "Yes, it's as I recall. Jenny had hoped that it would contain family memories passed down through the generations, but that's not how it works. The sephony box can only hold memories for a short time before they deteriorate. And once the box is opened, that's it. There's no putting them back inside."

"So these memories. Are they stolen?"

"I don't believe so. More like copies. I think these boxes were generally used as a kind of photo album before photography was widespread. You could show your family or your mates where you had traveled. But one time only."

Buffy looked at the box more closely. It reminded her of an old wooden jewelry box that used to sit on her mother's dresser when she was a kid. "Should we open it?"

"I would recommend against it. There's no way to know what's inside. But given the circumstances, it seems likely it will contain memories related to Angel."

Ah. She thought of all the possible horrors that could lie inside. Giles was making the right call. 

"Well, usually the interdimensional tilt-a-whirl would have been here and had me dizzy by now," she said. "I guess I need to get this box back to Borsa somehow to claim my prize."

Her heart swelled as she realized how close she was to being able to hold Angel in her arms without any fear. She hoped this rigmarole with the box was just some final formality. She had done everything Mirela asked, everything the fire required. Angel's soul should be safe.

"Buffy...I..."

"Hit me with it," she said, interrupting Giles' hemming and hawing. "I know you want to give me the Angel lecture. 'Be careful. Don't get hurt.'" She smiled. "How am I doing?"

"I trust you can make your own choices," he said carefully. "But you do know that, even if Angel's soul is safe, it may still be very difficult for you."

She nodded, her heart sinking back into place.

"So whatever time you do get, take care not to waste it," Giles said.

And she put his reserve to the test by embracing him. He hugged her back for a long moment before clearing his throat and adding a little, "Yes, well..."

She held on for a beat longer, but then made herself let go.

"In the spirit of not wasting time, what do you think is the fastest way to get back to Borsa? Is there a spell or something? One that would let me take the box with me?"

She put her hands on the well-worn wood and picked it up.

And then, of course, she was spinning again.

†††

When her boots hit the ground, Buffy knew it was different this time. It was _real_. She was no longer in the dumb-roll passage, or whatever it was called.

It was twilight now. So much had happened, and yet it was somehow still the same day. Just 24 hours ago, she and Angel had been heading out of the hotel in Bucharest, on the trail of a scaly yellow demon.

She looked ahead and saw smoke curling from the trees. That had to be where she was headed. The site of the Kalderash camp from a century ago. She was choked by the overpowering need to find Angel, to make sure he was safe, to hold onto him and never, never let go. She began to run.

It was awkward to run while clutching the box. It felt heavier and heavier as she went, even with her slayerness. Finally she slowed down to look at it again.

Whatever was inside, it was probably some cruel twist. This whole journey had been about testing her, testing her love for Angel, confronting her own doubts. He'd said it himself before she even began — she didn't know everything he'd done. She had seen glimpses of more in hell, had gotten a refresher course in Angelus' darkness in Giles' flat. What more did she have to see?

What else could be inside but the memory of the very worst thing he'd ever done?

It seemed so obvious now. She had finished all three trials. She'd "won." But magic was never that easy. Now they were going to show her something terrible to try to poison their future, their potential happiness.

If she had to look with Angel right there, it might work. She might not be able to control her reaction and he would see something in her face and she'd never convince him that she could get over it. God, maybe she wouldn't even want to.

She squashed that thought down and away. But now she had to know. She couldn't let her worst fears play out right in front of Angel. She would get it over with now and then decide what she wanted to do, have her mind made up before he looked at her with all that shining, loving trust in his face.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. There was no turning back now.

She opened the box.


	14. To Forget

The first thing Buffy saw was herself. She was wearing a white sweater and standing somewhere sunny on a beautiful day. It had to be — yes, it was Santa Monica, near the pier. The look on her face was confused and disbelieving and almost...awestruck.

Next, she was in a kitchen she didn't quite recognize, sitting in front of a steaming green mug. She watched herself stand up from the table and she heard her voice say, "...a good thing I didn't fantasize about you turning human only about 10 zillion times..."

And then, she was sprawled out on top of that table, her hair fanned around her and she was...well, that was embarrassing...but she was absolutely sure she had never been that happy in her entire life. And finally she saw them, her hands. Well, they were his hands, Angel's hands, as if he was looking down at them, and they were touching her in ways she had only dared to dream about for years. Her eyes, when they opened, were like fire. She'd never seen herself like that before. Well, of course she'd never seen herself like _that_ before. But it was more. She knew there was no way she had actually ever looked like that before, glowing like a thousand candles.

The intensity of the visions, of the love and bliss interlaced in them, was too much. She fell to her knees on the grass.

But they didn't stop. Next, she was in a bed. It had to be Angel's bed. She was wearing one of his shirts and laughing. She could taste ice cream. And then she was talking about his heartbeat and falling asleep on his chest.

She didn't understand. How could the box be full of fake memories? Angel human? Was this some kind of vision of the future? But it couldn't be, because she looked younger. She recognized the sweater as one she'd worn in college. And the trials weren't going to make Angel human, just save his soul.

But then sadness hit her with almost physical force and she wished she could turn the visions off, to close the box. She was watching herself yell and cry in a red dress and enough of what they were both saying was coming through that she understood.

There had been a day — one 24-hour-period — in which Angel had been human. And he'd...given it back. _He'd given it back._

She heard her voice, desperate now. "I'll never forget," she chanted. And then everything was gone but the anguish.

Buffy fell forward into the grass as the world went dark.

†††

"Buffy."

Angel's voice was insistent. She wanted to ignore him, but he kept saying her name. Finally, she cracked her eyes open. He was kneeling next to her in the last light of dusk. Groggily, she pushed herself up on her hands and knees as he supported her, helping her up to her feet.

"Are you OK?"

She looked into his face and had to restrain the urge to punch him. "I'm not ready to see you right now."

"I know that what you saw was upsetting, Buffy, but—"

"Upsetting?" she practically shrieked. She was so angry she couldn't go on.

"Before we say anything else, you need to know that you did it. My soul is mine. No more curse, no more clause. You saved me."

"Goody," she said flatly. She couldn't believe that she had just heard words she had longed to hear for years and her reaction was cold fury. "How soon before you find a way to give it up?"

"Buffy..."

"Well? What am I supposed to think? I go through all of this to help you and I find out that we could have avoided it entirely if you hadn't been so pig-headed."

"You know why I did it, though? You heard that part? About how you were going to die?"

"I died anyway." Her eyes were filling with tears. "You still couldn't save me."

"But who knows when you would have died in that world. It could have been the next day, the next hour. We couldn't have lived like that, with it always hanging over our heads. I couldn't have lived with knowing it would be my fault."

She blinked to clear her eyes. The tears rolled down her cheeks, two hot drops. When he moved to brush one of them away, she didn't stop him.

"What good would any of it have been without you, Buffy?"

She swallowed hard, pulled away. "Through all these trials, I've been second-guessing myself. Or ghost-you has been second-guessing me. Trying to talk me out of it."

"I'm sorry I wasn't more help," he said. "I was trying as hard as I could, but I could only get glimpses."

"For better or worse, some part of you was always with me," she said, and a piece of her wanted to fold herself into his arms and let the whole story come pouring out. But she couldn't. Not until he understood. "But no matter what happened, no matter what anyone said, none of it convinced me to give up. But this...But now..."

"You're afraid."

"Yes," she said emphatically. "We've sacrificed so much for each other. You gave up your humanity for me. And before that, you gave up _me_ for me. For my own good. You have to stop. We have to stop or we'll never actually be together."

"Can we promise that?" he asked quietly. “Could we promise that we won’t make sacrifices and still be who we want to be?”

She felt a fresh sob welling up. “So what do I have to hold onto? What’s changed?"

He ran his hand through his hair and then looked right into her eyes. "I put those memories in the box."

"What?"

"That was my part of the trials. The price I had to pay. To show you something I'd done."

So her guess had been basically right. But it was so far from what she'd expected.

"Those memories are magical," Angel continued. "Mirela couldn't even see them. Not until I told her what to look for."

"But why?"

"You've seen Drusilla. You know the kinds of things I've done without a soul. And anything else, I can tell you about. But this...I thought you would only really believe it if you could see it. And I needed you to know everything."

"So what does this prove? You knew what would hurt me the most?"

"No. You were right. I've always wanted to shield you. I've made decisions that I thought I had to. I'm not even saying that they were wrong. But now it's your turn to make the choice. And I wanted you to know the whole truth before you make it." He reached out and touched her arm. "You get to decide, Buffy."

"No. That’s the whole point!" she spluttered. "We should decide _together_." 

She wiped at her cheeks and stepped closer to him. "I still want you, Angel. I'm always going to want you. But we need to build something new. Together."

He nodded. "I know," he said. "I mean, I understand."

All the fight went out of her. She finally let herself lean into him, pressing her cheek and her hands against his chest. "Do you think we can start from the beginning?" she murmured.

"We can try," he said into her hair. "I want to try, if you do."

They held each other for a long time as darkness fell around them. And she thought that maybe, finally, this could work. That she had learned enough about herself, and about him, to know how to begin.

"If we’re starting over, I guess our first order of business is finding an alley where you can knock me on my ass," he said. She looked up and at the sight of her face, he added, "Possibly multiple times."

And she couldn't help it. She laughed, and she cried a few more tears, and then she kissed him.


	15. Eros Revisited

For years after she saved his soul, he came to her in dreams.

Sometimes she saw him as the handsome and mysterious messenger of her early Sunnydale days, sometimes he was the apathetic stranger of the days before they met, and sometimes he was the soulless terror who filled her with dread. 

But mostly he was the Angel of her everyday life. The one who made her eggs and helped her fight demons and talked to her about the future that they were making together.

One night, she woke from a dream to see that she could make out the shape of the lamp on her bedside table. He stirred as she reached over and turned it on.

"Buffy, what's wrong?" he asked sleepily. "Did you have a bad dream?"

"No," she said. "It was a very good one."

She smiled as he put his arms around her and pulled her back down into the warmth of their bed, his lips meeting hers like an answered prayer.

And maybe it wasn't always perfect happiness, but it was perfect happiness sometimes. And that was more than enough.


End file.
